DREAMS AND 
IDEALS 

BY 

GRACE FARRINGTON GRAY 



A VOLUME OF ESSAYS COMPILED FROM 

EDITORIALS WRITTEN FOR THE 

MINNEAPOLIS SUNDAY 

TIMES 




PRESS OF 

PRICE BROS. PKIXXING CO. 

MINNEAPOLIS, MINN. 

1900 



Library of Congress! 

1wl« Copies Received ! 
DEC 1 1900 

Copyright entry 

SECOND COPY 

Oeiivwixl to 

ORDER DIVISION 
OfC 8 1900 I 



J J |» T 



TO FRANCES 
This book is lovingly dedicated. 



J 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The Art of Happiness ..... 9 

The Child-Garden 17 

The One Essential ....... 25 

The Boon of Work 33 

Peace 43 

Where Ignorance is Bliss. .... 51 

Consider the Lilies 59 

The Balm of Nonsense. ..... 65 

The Influence of Ideals 71 

Goodfellowship in Women .... 77 

Love's Young Dream ...... 85 

The Electric Age of the Mind ... 93 

Easter-Tide. . - 99 

Incorrigible Parents 107 



PAGE. 

The Power of Music 115 

Problem Plays and Novels . . . . 121 

The Fear of Age 127 

A Cure for Thinking ...... 133 

Relentless Law 141 

People with Ideals . 147 

The Undiscovered Country .... 155 

The Good Part ........ 161 

Marriage a la Mode 169 

A Plea for Santa Claus 177 

The Law of Suggestion 187 

The City of Refuge ...... 193 

The Art of Speaking English . . . 201 

Personal Tolerance 209 

The Bondage of Woman 215 



Ube art of tfmppmess. 



THE AET OF HAPPINESS. 



Joy is a gift of the gods, but happiness 
is an art to be learned. 

Happiness is the object of life. All 
mankind is working for it in one way or 
another. Some seek it through fame, 
some through wealth, some through posi- 
tion, some through ease, some through 
knowledge. All these methods are 
wrong. Each is but the gratification of a 
single feeling. Happiness is infinitely 
more. Is it then the gratification of all 
feelings? Far from it. Happiness lies 
in the balance of the feelings. It is the 
equipoise of the mind between pain and 
pleasure. 

Nowhere, save in the old-fashioned ro- 
mance, is life all gloom nor all glamor. 



io DREAMS AND IDEALS 

In reality neither can be long sustained. 
It is as much a natural impossibility to 
endure prolonged joy or grief as it is to 
endure prolonged extremes of heat or 
cold. Nature has provided for the neces- 
sity of alternation. 

The mind has a given arc, and the pen- 
dulum of feeling is constantly swinging 
through the gradations from happiness to 
unhappiness and back again, independent 
of external circumstances. To-day we 
are unhappy, to-morrow we are happy. 
It is not that fate has relented and for- 
tune smiles again. Our prospects may 
not have altered one whit in the mean- 
time. The change lies within ourselves. 
It is only that feeling has swung to one 
extreme and must return to the other. It 
is the fixed and inevitable order of things. 
Happiness and unhappiness succeed each 
other as certainly as night and day. 

In childhood the feelings of the mo- 
ment are supreme. We believe each sor- 
row to be lasting, each joy eternal. But 
with added years, man learns that either 



DREAMS AND IDEALS n 

joy or sorrow is but a passing state, and 
his joy is tempered with the shadow of 
coming ill, and his sorrow is lightened by 
the hope of relief. In this balance of the 
feelings lies true happiness. 

It is a psychological fact that pleasure 
too long sustained becomes pain, and 
leads only to ennui, satiety and discon- 
tent. Ceaseless pleasure would be as un- 
endurable as a diet of sweets. It is the 
play of light and shadow, it is the flow 
and counterflow of hope and fear, anxiety 
and peace, desire and satisfaction which 
makes up the warp and woof of happi- 
ness. 

It is, therefore, the part of wisdom to 
accept life philosophically and with mod- 
eration. Why should we yield our whole 
being to each new feeling until we are 
possessed of it? Better far to possess it, 
and to curb and drive it as suits our will. 
A man should stand apart from his 
emotions as a commander from his troops. 
They should pass in review, and not sur- 
round and ride him down. Though he 



12 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

leads them, he restrains. Though he in- 
cites them, he disciplines. 

It is within our power to be as happy 
or as unhappy as we will. Happiness is 
a pleasurable state of mind caused by the 
excitation of certain feelings. To be 
happy, then, it is only necessary to con- 
trol the sensibilities. But this cannot be 
accomplished by sheer force of will. It 
must be effected by natural means. The 
primary means is to seek that environ- 
ment which gives us pleasure. This 
method man thoroughly understands and 
in some measure practices. But there is 
another phase of the subject more subtle 
and more important. It is the fact that 

"The mind is its own place, 
And of itself doth make 
A heaven of hell 
Or hell of heaven." 

We lead a dual life, the life within and 
the life without. The life without is not 
wholly in our control, but the life within 
is ours to make of it what we will. 

Here is our kingdom and our home. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 13 

We may fit and furnish it to suit our 
fancy. We may gather here all the 
noblest ideals of literature and art, all the 
sublimest scenes of nature, all the ten- 
derest influences of music, all the sweet- 
est memories of love. We may sift our 
experiences, and keep only the choicest. 
We may close our minds resolutely, per- 
sistently, habitually to all the insidious 
thoughts of hate, regret and apprehen- 
sion, which disquiet us and breed unhap- 
piness. We may open every avenue of 
pleasure, peace and content. 

This is our citadel. We fortify it with 
the loftiest images of beauty and the 
noblest ideals of happiness. We guard 
all avenues of danger and admit no enemy 
of peace. Though we go into the outer 
world we carry the atmosphere of happi- 
ness with us, and retire to it as to a city 
of refuge. 

In proportion as we withdraw from our 
emotions, does our mental vision clear. 
Our everyday experiences pass before us 
as in the distance, and take on something 



14 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

of the impersonal element which gives us 
wisdom in judgment and restraint in ac- 
tion. Feeling all, we have yet a reserve 
power, which rises superior to all. 

This, then, is the technique of the art 
of happiness. Happiness is the direct re- 
sult of mood; mood is the direct result of 
the thoughts upon which we dwell; our 
thoughts we may control; therefore we 
may control our measure of happiness. 

It is given to man to mete out his own 
destiny. 



Ubc GbU&*(Sart>en. 



THE CHILD-GARDEN. 

The kindergarten is a term full of sig- 
nificance. Froebel, with the insight of a 
poet and the wisdom of a philosopher, 
embodied the underlying principle of his 
teachings in the word. It is the prin- 
ciple of growth. Child-garden — a place 
where the child is allowed to grow in ac- 
cordance with its own being, nourished 
by the beneficent influences of nature. 

It is the loftiest ideal of education, and 
the sweetest dream of child life. It calls 
up the image of a garden bathed with sun- 
shine, fragrant with flowers, musical with 
the voice of waters, the twitter of birds 
and the laughter of children; a garden 
where play is the great teacher and love 
the great lesson ; a garden where the days 
are full of peace and pleasure. 

The true child-garden is the home. Up- 



18 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

on every mother devolves the high office 
of gardener. Whether or not she is pre- 
pared for the responsibility, whether or 
not she understands the culture of the 
human mind and soul, yet she is of neces- 
sity in charge of this imperial garden. It 
is her appointed work to tend the bud- 
ding intelligence, surround it with the 
conditions essential to its best growth, 
and keep the garden flowering with all 
that is good and beautiful. 

What the life-giving sun is to vegeta- 
tion, that the mother-heart is to the 
awakening spirit of the child. The 
warmth of love and the light of cheerful- 
ness are necessary to the unfolding intel- 
lect. The caresses, the lullabies and all 
the tender ways which Nature teaches 
mothers, are not the mere froth of affec- 
tion; they are the first and most potent 
influence of growth. In response to this 
benign force, the soul awakens, the babe 
coos its first utterances, and intelligence 
puts forth its first tendrils. 

A mother should constantlv and reli- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 19 

giously hold before the mind's eye the 
sweet, tender truth that her eyes and lips 
and heart must radiate the sunshine 
which is as necessary to the nourishment 
of her child's mind as food is to the nour- 
ishment of his body. Such an ideal 
would have a marvelous effect in lessen- 
ing the terrifying frowns, the fretful 
negations, and the sharp rebukes which 
fill the years of innocent and helpless 
childhood with grief and bitterness. 

A wholesome atmosphere of peace is an 
element of vital importance to growth. 
As the sensitive plant must be shielded 
from the slightest touch, so the keen sus- 
ceptibilities of the child, not yet adjusted 
to the outer world nor hardened to the 
experiences of life, must be shielded from 
any disturbance. Perez says of the in 
fant: 

"AH its senses are battered by repeated 
shocks of strange impressions, and its 
wailing cries indicate how painfully these 
are felt." And he adds: "It is strictly 
true that children make acquaintance 



20 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

with external life through 'suffering." 
Another author exclaims in sympathy: 
"What handling can be delicate enough, 
what voice low enough, to temper itself 
to the needs of these sensitive nerves 
against which the touch and sounds of 
the outer w^orld jar with awful tor- 
ments?" 

What is true of the physical senses is 
true in larger measure of the finer senses 
of the mind and heart. The noise, con- 
fusion and excitement which cause the 
jaded nerves of modern men and women 
are fatal to the equipoise of children. 
They can no more endure it than a rose 
can survive a trampling under the feet of 
men. Their nature demands absolute 
quiet and serenity. 

What should be the soil of the child- 
garden, from which character may draw 
sustenance? It should be that of con- 
stant obedience to natural law and un- 
failing practice of the larger virtues. If 
a child is habitually subject to order, if 
he sees love, reverence, truth and justice 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 21 

always in force about hirn, he will of 
necessity imbibe these elements, and from 
these will spring the minor virtues. To 
a nature thus cultivated, morality is no 
mere code of restraint, but that divinest 
virtue, unconscious goodness. 

The secret of culture, as of character, is 
proper environment. Surrounded with 
the noblest ideals of art and literature, a 
child acquires fine perceptions, which be- 
come to him a second nature. 

This, then, is the principle of the child- 
garden, to surround the child with all 
that is wholesome, all that is good, all 
that is beautiful, in order that the noble 
elements of his character may be nourish- 
ed and grow, and to banish all that is 
evil, all that is harmful, all that is unlove- 
ly, in order that the ignoble elements of 
his character may die of neglect. 

Sunshine, peace, law, and the practice 
of the virtues, these are the essentials of 
the child-garden, and they secure to the 
child the best things of life, freedom and 
happiness, growth and goodness. This is 
education. 



Ube ©ne Essential. 



THE ONE ESSENTIAL. 

The Christian religion is in the crucible. 
The fire of reason burns and will not be 
stayed. It has consumed many a cher- 
ished belief and threatens many another. 
Theologic speculations and human dogma 
alike go down before it. 

Yet the church remains. It retreats 
from one position to another on the doc- 
trines of original sin, total depravity, pre- 
destination, eternal punishment, infant 
damnation and the infallibility of the 
scriptures. But retreat as it may, it 
never breaks ranks. There is something 
which holds it together, something more 
than creed, something more than church 
government. What is it which enables 
it to stand despite doubt within and as- 
sault without? 



26 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

It is, after all, only the dross of human 
theories and human laws which reason 
destroys. The gold shines but the 
brighter by refinement. The One Essen- 
tial of Christianity remains invulnerable. 
It is the holy life of its Founder. 

What though profane history does not 
verify the claim of divinity? The world 
has been touched and moved and inspired 
by the story of Damon and Pythias. It 
does not ask nor care whether they were 
historical characters. What does it mat- 
ter whether with fleshly feet they walked 
the material earth? They live in litera- 
ture, and if the story were proved only 
tradition, it would not in any degree af- 
fect the reality of the characters in the 
minds of mankind. It would not in any 
degree affect the influence of that ideal of 
integrity, nobility and friendship. 

Why, then, should scholastic quib- 
blings over theological probabilities ef- 
face the image of Christ or neutralize the 
power of his life? 

Illustrations could be multiplied 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 27 

throughout the realm of literature. There 
are characters innumerable who enter 
into the mind and affect the life, to whom 
one turns as to friends, who never ex- 
isted in the material world. Imogene, 
Eosalind, Hamlet, Falstaff, Ivanhoe, the 
Lady of the Lake, Paul and Virginia, 
Colonel Newcomb, Tom and Maggie Tulli- 
ver, Sydney Carton, we know them all 
and love them. They have as real an 
identity in the intellectual world as 
though they to-day existed in the flesh. 

The human mind has, through what 
avenue of revelation it matters not, re- 
ceived the image of Christ, and it is and 
must forever be a vital force in the spir- 
itual world. 

The sculptor of the Venus de Milo in 
some transport of the artist soul saw a 
vision of perfect beauty. It possessed 
his mind, and his obedient fingers could 
do nothing else than fashion the image 
fixed on his brain. As it grew in distinct- 
ness and perfection in his heart, it di- 
rected his hands, and the cold marble 



28 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

touched by the current of his mind at 
length stood in the semblance of the 
vision. 

The Venus de Milo never existed; Aph- 
rodite was a myth, and yet the statue 
lives — the incarnation of all physical 
beauty. It is universal. It is eternal. It 
is vital. Wherever civilization goes, it 
carries this image of loveliness. As long 
as the human mind continues, the influ- 
ences set in motion by this revelation of 
beauty will not cease. Silent, motion- 
less, cold, it has power to move the heart. 
The artist takes it into his studio. He 
studies, worships, reproduces it. 

So the spiritual man takes the image of 
the Great Philanthropist into his inner- 
most heart to study, worship and repro- 
duce it. He gazes on those features of 
ineffable sweetness and infinite majesty 
until his own soften. He ponders those 
deeds of love until his own acts become 
kind. He lingers in that holy presence 
and in such atmosphere can do no wrong. 
His whole life is slowly, naturally 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 29 

changed into the semblance of his Ideal. 

Doctrines may rise and wane and the 
church itself fall, but Christ lives. 

His life and His law of love are the cen- 
ter about which the religious world is co- 
alescing, and from which social order and 
human perfection are evolving. 

The Christian religion is in the cruci- 
ble; the fire of reason burns, but the One 
Essential remains. 



Ube Boon of TKHorfc* 



THE BOON OF WORK. 

Half the people in the world are busy 
trying to evade work. Well for them 
that they cannot wholly succeed. 

Of all the gifts of the gods, work is 
among the choicest. It is the great civil- 
izer and the great balance wheel of man- 
kind. To the individual it is an incal- 
culable blessing. Xor is this truism 
meant in the stereotyped sense in which 
it once figured as a fundamental law of 
education — the false and unpalatable 
sense that whatever was difficult and dis- 
agreeable was necessarily good discipline. 
It is meant in a scientific sense. Every 
advance in the study of mind and body 
reveals the fact that action is the normal 
condition of all animate creation. Na- 



34 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

ture abhors inertia not less than she ab- 
hors a vacuum. Decay and death are the 
penalty of inactivity, and not to use a 
faculty is to lose it. 

"Get work; be sure 'tis better than 
what you work to get." 

A wiser epigram was never twisted 
than this quaint advice of Mrs. Brown- 
ing's. Man works for bread, for wealth, 
for fame or far-off ease. But these are 
not the true end of work. They are 
but lures to lead man on to greater ef- 
fort. They are no more the purpose of 
work than an oratorical prize is the pur- 
pose of speech. Money and position may 
be prizes, but the effect of the work upon 
the worker is infinitely better than the 
gold or honor that he works to get. 

Like breathing and all the processes of 
Nature, the effect of work is so subtle 
and gradual that few appreciate its value. 
It is recognized only in striking instances. 
Yet always it exerts its potent influence 
for change and growth and energy. It is 
the motive power of the engine of the 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 35 

heart and sends the red blood coursing 
with renewed force through the tingling 
veins. It is the master-builder of the 
body and the brain, and daily tears down 
tissues only to build up stronger muscles, 
firmer flesh and healthier nerve-cells. It 
writes wrinkles on the brow, 'tis true, but 
not more surely than it writes convolu- 
tions on the brain. It schools the body 
to instant, deft and accurate obedience to 
the mind. 

Work is necessary to health and sanity, 
to growth and culture. It is as certainly 
an element by which the whole being 
thrives as air. As well hope to live with- 
out eating as to live without working. It 
is a condition imposed upon all life by the 
Supreme Scientist. 

All men work, and must work to sur- 
vive. To be sure, there are so-called lei- 
sure classes. But they are by no means 
idle. They are people who reduce work 
to the minimum, and who suffer for their 
indolence, physically, mentally and mor- 
ally. They are usually people who em- 



36 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

ploy the lowest order of the faculties. 
But struggle as he may, no one is so art- 
ful as to wholly elude toil. The tramp 
works hard at his profession, and the 
society belle, smothered in ease, never- 
theless leads a busy and laborious exis- 
tence. 

Not only is work inevitable, not only 
is it essential to the safety, health and 
growth of the whole being, but it is one 
of the greatest sources of pleasure. In- 
directly it adds to enjoyment because the 
change from effort, application and mo- 
notony lends double zest to recreation. 
But it gives also direct pleasure. All en- 
joyment arises in the use of some faculty. 
Conversely the normal use of any faculty 
is pleasurable. The man who has found 
his natural and congenial sphere of work 
and who prosecutes it under proper condi- 
tions, derives real and constant gratifi- 
cation from it, although he does not 
recognize it with the same effervescent en- 
thusiasm with which he recognizes the 
pleasures of a holiday. Taken from his 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 37 

work, lie would suffer more from the loss 
than ever he suffered from drudgery. 

There is nothing like hard and syste- 
matic w r ork to keep the emotions under 
proper control. It is the best oblivion in 
which to bury self or sorrow. It broadens 
the outlook and distracts the mind from 
petty personalism. Like a brisk walk or 
a plunge in the ocean, an exacting duty 
steadies the nerves, settles the mind and 
dispels illusions. 

Xo one so foolish as to argue that un- 
remitting work, work beyond the 
strength, work unrelieved by proper di- 
versions could prove of benefit. But 
properly limited it is the salvation of 
man. To find one's work is the first duty 
of life, and to throw his whole heart into 
it is the second. He is the happy man 
who works. He is the most successful 
man who works best. 



peace. 



IPeace. 



PEACE. 

There is one word in our impetuous lan- 
guage that surpasses all others in majes- 
ty and beauty. It stands out among its 
uncouth, boisterous fellows like a glisten- 
ing white rock among noisy, writhing 
wayes. It is that strong, poetic word,. 
peace. 

Peace! It falls upon the ear like the 
first note of a great anthem. It breathes 
of the grandeur of the stars circling in 
the silent spaces, of the tenderness of 
deep organ notes sweeping through a 
hushed cathedral. Alas, that it is a 
stranger to our tongues, an exile from our 
minds ! 

The Orientals knew the word and loyed 
it. It was a symbol of their repose, as it 



44 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

was an embodiment of their philosophy. 
"Peace be with thee." What form has 
modern society to equal this salutation in 
grace and dignity and tenderness? Ori- 
ental customs would befit our feverish 
life as little as Oriental dress would be- 
come our energetic business men. 

What does the present age know of 
peace? Life is all haste, bustle and tur- 
moil. We press forward with impatience 
to see, to know, to do. Our sole purpose 
is to accomplish and to acquire. We mul- 
tiply projects, load ourselves with a thou- 
sand things beyond our duty, and rest not 
until our undertakings are accomplished. 
We seek variety and experiences, and 
yield ourselves to every feeling that fas- 
cinates, distresses or excites. We are ab- 
sorbed in constant fears, fancies and 
questionings, dissipating our energies up- 
on everything with which we come in 
touch. We are loud, eager, anxious and 
precipitate. The fountain of youth is 
drained before the days of youth are num- 
bered. Our faces age, wrinkle and fade; 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 45 

our hearts harden and our hopes disap- 
pear, the buoyant purpose and enthusi- 
asm of youth are gone, leaving only quer- 
ulous craving and ennui. We come down 
to the grave, bitterly conning the lesson 
we should have learned at the start — the 
world does not satisfy. 

The world does not satisfy. Let youth 
start upon this hypothesis, and accepting 
what the world can give of good, seek 
always something higher. Three things 
only are worth the effort of life — wisdom, 
love and peace. It is not learning that 
satisfies, but wisdom; not friends, but 
love; not ease, but peace. Why sacrifice 
everything to success, when success has 
no power to make man happy? Why ex- 
haust the mind with useless, distracting 
thoughts of past and present and future, 
with vain desires and pre-occupation over 
some cherished mania? There are enough 
legitimate outlets for force without seek- 
ing the bayous of regret, desire and emo- 
tion. 

Excess in feeling is as weak and gross 



46 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

and ignoble as any other form of indul- 
gence. 

Is it not possible to reconcile an active, 
happy life with peace and recollected- 
ness? Is there no harbor in the heart 
where the storms of the open sea do not 
rage? 

A strong and steadfast mind is a mon- 
arch who sits enthroned above the inter- 
ests of life as an eagle sits upon an Al- 
pine peak above the vapors, winds and 
storms of mid-air. 

Here in perpetual serenity the mind 
dwells in its own world, nor ever descends 
to the valley where the lower faculties 
are in combat with the forces of life. 
Here, when the battle flags, man may re- 
tire, and, casting aside his own person- 
ality and the interests of the earth, steel 
his mind against evil influences and open 
it to the flood tide of good influences, un- 
til his being is possessed with the con- 
sciousness of Goodness and Sublimity. 
Here he may rest and breathe the pure 
air of inspiration and think his way to- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 47 

ward Divinity. Here all is peace and ex- 
altation, and 

"The silence itself is music, 
Iyike the silence of the stars." 

Once in a lifetime, one may see a face 
upon which peace has set its seal. Often- 
est it is an aged face, wrinkled and faded, 
indeed, but as free from the scars of care 
and passion as a child's. Sometimes it is 
the pure face of a girl who walks through 
life as though she but passed down the 
aisle of a sanctuary, bearing lilies. 

But such faces are few. Peace is the 
rarest gift on earth. Why will men and 
women seek every accomplishment but 
the accomplishment of repose, every bless- 
ing but the true blessing of peace? 

Among all the cults and all the 
churches of earth, is there none to spread 
the gospel of peace? Will mankind never 
come into the promised heritage: "My 
peace I leave with thee"? 



Wbere Uanorance is ifiSlfss. 



WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS. 

Modern science has made many a won- 
derful discovery, but unfortunately not 
all of its discoveries are welcome. It has 
revealed the beautiful processes of na- 
ture, but it has also revealed her destroy- 
ing agencies. 

The more closely man has studied, the 
more complicated has he found condi- 
tions and the more dangers has he recog- 
nized. Where all was outwardly lovely, 
he has found inward harm. The micro- 
scope has disclosed minute horrors, none 
the less horrible because minute. The 
telescope, as it sweeps the heavens with 
its far-seeing eye, has foretold stupendous 
catastrophes. Much that was thought 
beneficial has been proven dangerous, and 



52 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

much that was thought harmless has 
been proven fatal. It has been demon- 
strated that hand in hand with benefits 
stalk injuries. Great good is always at- 
tended by satellites of little evils. 

Years ago people lived in calm confi- 
dence that whatever is, is right. They 
had faith in all things. Today people 
have faith in nothing. They are like Pil- 
grim walking through the valley of the 
shadow of death, feeling thick about him 
horrors he could not see. 

They have learned that the very air, 
once considered a life-giving nectar, is 
peopled with ferocious microbes seeking 
whom they may devour. They imagine 
their insidious enemies perched on restau- 
rant chaire, sitting atilt on the passing 
coin, flying from shoulder to shoulder in 
the jostling crowd. They have learned 
that the water they drink swarms with 
life and carries germs of dread disease. 
They have learned that one article of food 
is bad for the nerves, another heats the 
blood, another is hard to digest, and so on 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 53 

through every known menu. They have 
learned that imperfect sanitation and 
ventilation endanger health, and that 
proper conditions are, moreover, very 
rarely attained. 

Nor is it in everyday affairs alone that 
science has pointed out the dangers that 
await man. Through all the realm of 
human interests it has conjured up evils. 
Its warning cry runs the gamut of calam- 
ities from the danger of not exercising 
enough, up to the danger of the race mul- 
tiplying too fast for the earth to support 
it, and the equally dramatic danger of the 
earth flying from its orbit and rushing 
into the embrace of the sun. 

Sensitive souls are reduced to a state of 
abject terror when they think of the small 
chance man has of life, health and pros- 
perity, in the face of these ogres of sci- 
ence. What shall they eat, wherewithal 
shall they be clothed, what can they with 
safety do, when in all things lurks death 
and disaster? They dare not indulge 
their pet weakness for coffee. They 



54 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

eschew their favorite dainties. They fear 
to come in contact with their fellows or 
to touch the railing, counter or car strap, 
touched alike by all sorts and conditions 
of men. They fear contagion in the doc- 
tor's office and blood poisoning from his 
knife. They fear a thousand things in 
daily life. Meanwhile they still live. 

Certainly science has evolved much 
truth, and its warnings are worth the 
heeding. But the warnings of science, 
like all other advice, should be referred 
to a judicious committee on common 
sense. It should be remembered that doc- 
tors sometimes disagree, and the verdict 
of one authority, or a half dozen authori- 
ties is not necessarily the verdict of sci- 
ence. Moreover, a truth may be too 
sweepingly appled. Circumstances and 
individuals differ, and what will hold 
good in one case needs modification in 
another. 

It seems to the hardened and incred- 
ulous that if life be really so beset with 
dangers, it is passing strange that genera- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 55 

tion after generation should have lived 
and thrived in their midst, and this also 
without a knowledge of their existence. 
If our ancestors, knowing nothing of 
these wonderful discoveries of hidden 
evil, managed to avoid the pitfalls, why 
not we? Does mere knowledge of danger 
make one more susceptible to its effects? 
Where is the wisdom that should accom- 
pany increasing knowledge? 

Natural living and confidence in Nature 
are the best safeguards against such 
evils. Common sense is the best of dis- 
infectants and work the best of remedies. 



Consider tbe Xtlfes. 



CONSIDER THE LILIES. 

Next to a child's face, the most beau- 
tiful thing in this world is a flower. 
Wanderers from some fairer world they 
seem — these little strangers that grace 
the earth for a day. 

"These children of the meadows, born 
Of sunshine and of showers!" 

There is that in their advent that in- 
vests them with a mysterious charm. The 
marvel of these frail and exquisite forms 
springing from black and senseless clods, 
fills the mind with awe. What wonders 
are wrought in the chambers of the earth ! 
Nature's simplest handicraft transcends 
the reason of man. 

The human heart, craving beauty as a 



60 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

violet craves dew, finds refreshment in 
flowers. The flower kingdom is beauty's 
own province. Such rare and radiant 
colors — bits of light from some celestial 
rainbow! Such varied, graceful forms — a 
troop of petal-clothed fairy-folk! Such 
soft, delicious fragrance, as sweet as the 
odors of Araby, as fresh as the waters 
of a spring! 

But it is not to the senses alone that 
flowers yield pleasure. To the mind, as 
well, they bring satisfaction. Words- 
worth says: 

To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 

There is a completeness and perfection 
in flowers that is balm to man, w^eary 
of flaws and failures. It gives content- 
ment and reassurance of a possible per- 
fection. The unfailing serenity of bud 
and blossom speaks peace to the fevered 
spirit. Their voiceless silence breathes 
calm and rest. Their purity invokes nob- 
ler thoughts and loftier aspirations. They 
seem like sentient friends. Behind the 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 61 

meek, sad eye of the daisy, is there no 
inind? Beneath the blushing bosom of 
the rose, is there no heart? Within the 
snowy chalice of the lily, is there no 
soul? 

We study the paintings of the old mas- 
ters and the songs of the great poets as 
a means of culture. Why should we not 
go ourselves to Xature and seek culture 
at its fountain head? Where is the artist, 
where is the poet, who can create such 
beauty as exists in a single flower? 
Goethe once gave as a regimen for cul- 
ture the daily study of a good poem, a 
good picture and a good piece of music. 
He might well have added the daily con- 
templation of flowers. The living pres- 
ence of beauty has more effect in the 
cultivation of taste, perception and char- 
acter than all dead forms and soulless 
textbooks. 

The ancient Greeks, adepts in culture, 
recognized the principle of the power of 
environment and the influence of beauti- 
ful associations. Thev surrounded their 



62 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

women with pictures, statuary and all 
that was ideal. They educated the youth 
of the nation in an atmosphere of beauty 
and refinement. Modern civilization 
would do well to return to this first prin- 
ciple of education, which Nature has been 
patiently teaching in the evolution of the 
ages. 

Consider the lilies. Yes, and the warm- 
hearted roses, the virgin snowdrops, the 
star-eyed 'anemones and all the sisterhood 
of flowers. Go forth into the woods and 
fields and gardens. Live in the society 
of flowers, until the mind imbibes some- 
thing of their gentle nature, and the 
stony highways of the heart become like 
meadows of clover bloom! 



Ube 38alm of IRonsense. 



THE BALM OF NONSENSE. 

Humor is more than a mere rhetorical 
figure. It is a fundamental element of 
literature. It is the spice that gives zest 
to reading and life to thought. It is the 
flash and sparkle of diction that bespeaks 
the diamond of genius. Where there is 
real humor there is sustained interest. It 
has a more potent and universal charm 
over the mind than polished eloquence or 
vigorous thought. It is a power behind 
the throne that may lend force to elo- 
quence and to thought. 

Its use is of utmost importance. Read- 
ing is perhaps the most general form of 
amusement and means of relaxation. 
Many seek in literature their only change 
and recreation to distract the mind and 
relieve the tension of the nerves. There 
is no atmosphere more restful than the 
atmosphere of humor. 



66 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

To feel one's self on joking terms with 
the world is to exorcise anxiety. 

To yield the mind to the balm of non- 
sense is to ease it of the stings of the 
work-a-day, weep-a-day world. To catch 
the spirit of fun is to renew hope and 
strength. 

Its expression is as various as varying 
temperament. There is a conscious and 
an apparently unconscious humor. There 
are the knowing winks of well-chosen 
words that wear an air of undisguised 
confidence in their power to amuse. 
There are the spontaneous outbursts that 
disarm solemnity with contagious mirth. 
There are veins of sly drollery that play 
hide and seek with sense. 

Prince of humorists was Dickens. His 
very name brings smiles and a glow of 
good nature. He has created many char- 
acters which are the essence of humor. 
On whatever phase of life he turns the 
high lights of his art, he writes with a 
pencil bewitched with fun. His works 
from first to last are good-natured raillery 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 67 

at human weaknesses. No verbal feats 
contain his humor. It is greater than a 
jugglery with words or even with ideas. 
It is a dominating spirit. It is the be- 
nevolent mischief of the man's own per- 
sonality that fills his novels with con- 
tagious merriment. 

Thackeray's humor is different. It is 
the product of intent, and exists not so 
much in spirit and effect as in the 
thoughts themselves. It lies in satire and 
only his broad charity saves his humor 
from becoming cynicism. The humor of 
Irving, with its graceful, subtle irony, is 
of the same character. 

Coming to latter-day humorists, the 
development seems to tend toward arti- 
ficiality. The fun of current literature lies 
largely in style and construction. It con- 
sists rather in absurdities of plot or inci- 
dent and plays upon words than in any 
inherent spirit of fun or appreciation of 
the amusing side of general thought. 

Mark Twain revels in ludicrous experi- 
ences and original expressions. Bill 



68 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

Nye's fun rests upon his sudden transi- 
tions from the commonplace to the sheer- 
est nonsense. Frank Stockton is a typ- 
ical humorist of the day. He amuses his 
readers by an innocent incongruity be- 
tween his characters and his incidents. 
They always appear in some unique ratio. 
The incidents are of the impossible vari- 
ety, and the characters always fail to say 
and do what might reasonably be ex- 
pected of them under the circumstances. 
No formal humor of diction, no figures of 
speech nor amusing mannerisms betray 
that he is trying to be funny. Howells r 
on the contrary, resorts to artful coinci- 
dences, absurd series of commonplace 
events and farcical situations. He even 
employs puns and forms of humor on the 
same mechanical plane. 

The superficial humor of the day meets 
the requirements of the time. It is an 
antidote to the intensity of feeling and 
absorption in work that characterizes the 
period. Superficial or otherwise, humor 
is a blessing, and the salvation of other- 
wise commonplace literature. 



Zbt flnfluence of Hoeals. 



THE INFLUENCE OF IDEALS. 

"We create life through ideals," says 
Pestalozzi. The words are profoundly 
true. Our ideals are the molds in which 
we cast our minds, our characters and 
our destinies. They constitute that po- 
tent influence which we variously call our 
presiding genius, our good angel or our 
lucky and unlucky stars. They are at 
once the lofty possibilities to which we 
may rise, and the limitations which cir- 
cumscribe our actions. They measure the 
altitude of our souls. They form the cir- 
cumference of our being. 

By ideals is not meant those arbitrary 
standards which we set up for ourselves, 
nor those things which we affect to ad- 
mire. Our real ideals are those honest, 
inmost ideas of happiness which possess 



72 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

the mind. They are our actuating de- 
sires. Ambition is no part of our ideals. 
Ambition implies purpose. It has a fixed 
end to be attained by a given course. 
Ideals have a wider horizon. They are 
a picture of those things we most love, 
held forever before the mind's eye. From 
gazing upon them w T e are transformed in- 
to their likeness. 

Ideals are in some measure inherent. 
Our characteristics determine them by 
natural selection. But they are also ac- 
quired. They may be educated, as taste 
in lesser things is educated. A lofty 
mind worships what is lofty. But the 
converse is also true. One who habit- 
ually studies what is noble, becomes him- 
self noble. 

Broadly stated, what we admire we 
win. What we wish to be, that we be- 
come. We may or may not achieve our 
purposes, but we must approach our 
ideals. We gravitate toward that for 
which we have affinity as certainly as a 
steel tow r ard its magnet. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 73 

It is vain to adopt a role that is in- 
sincere, "to assume a virtue if we have 
it not." It is useless to set up a hero 
whom we are to emulate. We can only 
seek habitually that atmosphere which 
invites good influences. We can only 
look upon the good and the beautiful un- 
til we reflect it, until it becomes so much 
a part of us that it determines those 
trifling decisions from moment to mo- 
ment, which, insignificant in themselves, 
neverthless make up the sum and sub- 
stance of existence. 

Such simplicity and grandeur of soul 
Talfourd embodies in the character of 
Ion: 

So his life hath flowed 
From its mysterious urn a sacred stream 
In whose calm depths the beautiful and pure 
Alone are mirrored; which, though shapes of ill 
May hover around its surface, glides in light, 
And takes no shadow from them. 



(Soo&fellowsbip in TPWomen. 



GOODFELLOWSHIP IN WOMEN. 

What quality do men most prize in wo- 
men? Any man of experience will reply 
that goodfellowship is most to be desired. 
Beauty is winning, but it is not satisfy- 
ing. Intellect is in some respects a curse. 
But goodfellowship is a charm that en- 
dures forever. 

To the average woman the term is 
vague and unintelligible. It would be 
difficult for men with their agreeable 
companionships to realize how meaning- 
less women find this popular expression. 
Goodfellowship is not known among wo- 
men. Their relations are tinged either 
with ardor, formality or bitterness. What 
wonder they are slow to catch the spirit 
of goodfellowship? It is wholly foreign 



78 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

to their experience. They have no leisure 
to cultivate it as men have, and their 
natural tendency to regard everything in 
a personal light is fatal to its growth. 

Goodfellowship is companionable 
friendship. It is club-like congeniality 
and complaisance. Resolved into its es- 
sence it is simply a disposition to enjoy. 

The first characteristic of goodfellow- 
ship is good temper, plain, every day good 
temper, of the imperturbable sort that 
beams steadily on the just and on the un- 
just. It is a rare virtue and a happy one. 
Closely allied to it is the second charac- 
teristic, the philosophical spirit, bent on 
making the best of everything and look- 
ing on the bright side of life. 

A genial nature is the very heart of 
goodfellowship. The woman who posses- 
ses it is warmly and heartily interested 
in everybody, relishes her surroundings 
and takes pleasure in all things. She is 
cordial, respects her friend and enters in- 
to a social partnership with him for mu- 
tual amusement and mutual service. She 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 79 

believes in him and does not criticize. 
She takes him at his own estimate, and is 
willing to stand in the same attitude — to 
put herself in her friend's place. She 
shows a spirit of fairness, prepossessed in 
her friend's favor. She meets him half 
way in everything, is appreciative and re- 
sponsive, certain not to misinterpret or 
exaggerate trifles. 

Another essential of goodfellowship is 
a sense of humor. The faculty of seeing 
the picturesque and the ludicrous and en- 
joying it when seen, is the happiest of 
gifts. It adorns good fortune, averts mis- 
fortune and robs even failure of its sting. 

An adept in good fellowship is buoyant 
and quick to catch the holiday spirit. In 
conversation she is animated and viva- 
cious, versed in the battle-door and shut- 
tle-cock of small talk, not too brilliant to 
despise the airy trifling, the butterfly 
circlings of nonsense. If she have wit, 
a fund of stories and a store of jokes, her 
success will be unbounded. The new wo- 
man can never attain goodfellowship. 



80 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

Earnestness, logic and analysis are fatal 
to graceful conversation. To pursue a 
subject, to wax controversial and peda- 
gogic is to bore your friend and sacrifice 
a comrade for a theory. 

Modesty is another important attribute 
of goodfellowship. The narrow, self-cen- 
tered egoist is incapable of true friend- 
ship. 

Inquisitiveness, importunate attentions 
and officious help are contrary to its 
spirit. The club-like friend obeys the 
old maxims to leave her friend something 
more to desire of her; to be useful only so 
far as her friend wishes; to be much oc- 
cupied with her own affairs, and to leave 
her friend at liberty to think and act for 
himself. 

Goodfellowship is but imperfect, with- 
out sincerity. Good temper, a philosophi- 
cal spirit, a genial nature, a sense of hu- 
mor and modesty should be crowned with 
honesty. Goodfellowship implies a frank- 
ness that scorns all that is artificial, af- 
fected, coquettish and false. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 81 

Too many women who aspire to good- 
fellowship make the mistake of supposing 
it to be vulgar kameraderie. They grow 
loud, coarse and mannish and defeat their 
purpose. There is nothing incompatible 
between goodfellowship and gentleness, 
and all the other graces and virtues of 
femininity. 

If wives would learn this happy art, 
there w r ould be fewer clubs, fewer di- 
vorces. Love is unstable unless founded 
on friendship, and the laws of friendship 
are always the same, whatever the rela- 
tion of the friends. 



Xove's !>outtg 2>ream 



LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. 

Few bachelors so hardened, few mar- 
ried lovers so prosaically content, as not 
to indulge at times in recollections of 
first love. The subtle scent of violets, the 
heavy fragrance of water lilies, the re- 
frain of an old ballad, often surprises 
the most matter-of-fact into a half- 
breathed sigh, a voiceless pean over the 
past. 

"Xo, there's nothing half so sweet in life 
As love's young dream." 

? Tis a wonderful kingdom — this realm 
of romance, lying midway between fairy- 
land and the world we choose to call real. 
In this garden of youth, frank eyes look 
love into the depths of other eyes, as un- 



86 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

abashed as the innocent daisies that 
watch them. The fair one seems to the 
adoring youth a radiant angel, and the 
maiden looks upon her cavalier as a very 
knight. Oh, the witchery of the halcyon 
days! Their golden glow lingers yet. 
Never were skies so celestially blue as 
those that canopied the long ago. Never 
were flowers so strangely sweet as those 
dewy blossoms, the spoil of early morn- 
ing pilgrimages, brought from the farth- 
est meadows, like votive offerings to a 
shrine. 

Love's young dream knows nothing of 
heartless convention or consuming pas- 
sion. The tenderness that floods the heart 
is natural and spontaneous, sincere and 
disinterested. It springs from congenial 
companionship and merges gently into 
love, until the youth and maiden find 
themselves afloat on a strange, new 
stream, and thrill with the sense of a 
new fascination in each other's presence, 
and a new charm in the whole, great, 
beautiful world. They love as sweetly, 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 87 

simply and peacefully as only youth and 
maiden may. Tennyson sings of the 
magic transition in the lines: 

Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it 

in his glowing hands; 
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in 

golden sands. 

But the love of Paul and Virginia is 
not destined to ripen into the love of Dar- 
by and Joan. It came with youth, and 
with youth it passes. 

Proud and shy and sensitive, the first 
separation brings misunderstanding, and 
the dream is over. There are tumultuous 
regrets. The sun is darkened, and the 
moon shows not her face. But in time 
the earth swings again in its wonted 
orbit, the void is filled with new interests, 
and first love is laid aside, as a maiden 
lays aside her doll. It is laid aside, but 
not forgotten. The mature judgment 
looks back upon it as an idyllic dream, 
to be counted in the wealth of the heart. 

Scarce one of the poets but has sung 
of first lcve. Byron tells the story with 



88 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

his characteristic intensity in "The 
Dream." Tennyson immortalizes it in 
"Locksley Hall." Lord Lytton sings of it 
in "Changes/' beginning: 

"Whom first we love, you know, we seldom 
wed." 

Again he mourns the long ago in "The 
Chess-Board" : 

"My- little love, do you remember, 
Ere we were grown so sadly wise, 

Those evenings in the bleak December, 

Curtained warm from the snowy 
weather, 

When you and I played chess together, 
Checkmated by each other's eyes?" 

But it remained for Whittier to write 
the most sweetly pathetic lament over 
love's young dream. His poem, "My 
Playmate," is one of the daintiest pas- 
torals in English verse : 

"What cares she that the orioles build 

For other eyes than ours— 
That other hands with nuts are filled, 

And other laps with flowers? 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 89 

"O playmate in the golden time! 

Our mossy seat is green, 
Its fringing violets blossom yet, 

The old trees o'er it lean. 

"The winds so sweet with birch and fern 
A sweeter memory blow; 

And there, in spring, the veeries sing 
The song of long ago. 

"And still pines of Ramoth wood 
Are moaning like the sea — 
The moaning of the sea of change 
Between myself and thee!" 

The words of the Quaker poet find echo 
in the heart of many a man and woman, 
who, like him, "walk with noiseless feet, 
the round of uneventful years/' and who 

pause now and again to recall the crown- 
ing happiness of youth. 



Ufoe Electric Bge of tbe flDino. 



THE ELECTRIC AGE OF THE MIND. 

When creation was finished the mind 
of man formed its climax, and through 
the ages it remains the supreme work of 
the universe. 

The immensity of the spheres and the 
wonderful detail of flowers are studies of 
profound interest, but there is no science 
of such absorbing fascination as the 
science of the mind. To enter that mys- 
terious workshop where moods and mo- 
tives are made, where thought is born 
and deeds begun, is a high privilege. To 
watch the mechanism of brain and nerves 
and study human nature from the center 
of forces is a rare pleasure. There is a 
peculiar satisfaction in becoming famil- 
iar with the causes and effects <of sensa- 
tions, opinions and emotions. A knowl- 
edge of one's faculties and the proper 



94 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

control of thern gives an exulting sense 
of power. 

There is a keen delight in tearing from 
mental processes the mystery that always 
shrouds the abstract, and learning to 
w T eigh words, actions, character, in the 
scales of science. Then only does insight 
into the heart and mind of man become 
more than keen intuition and shrewd sur- 
mise. 

As yet the science of the mind is in a 
primitive state. Psychology is but a 
mass of classified phenomena. The cen- 
tral truth that shall give it life and form 
is still wanting. The real essence is miss- 
ing, and the nature of mind, the secret of 
its expression, and the full extent of its 
powers are no more understood than 
when the first philosopher bowed before 
the wonder. 

This feverish age that has quickened 
activity in every line, has stimulated 
mental study. The problems of the day 
have taken a psychological turn. There 
is an eager interest in such matters in 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 95 

the very air. Literature is full of it. 
Imagination, speculation, investigation 
are rife, and all are busy with theories of 
the occult. 

Whether they take the form of religion 
or science, whether it is theosophy, hyp- 
notism, spiritualism, mesmerism, simple 
magnetism or any allied ism — each has 
its followers. The public mind is in an 
excited, confused, receptive state, ready 
to seize upon the first plausible explana- 
tion of old miracles and new mysteries. 

It is a transition period. The thought 
and investigation being concentrated on 
this subject cannot be without result. 
The common impulse in one direction and 
the strangely similar yet fragmentary 
ideas germinating in different quarters 
and the rapid discoveries of the last few 
years, may indicate that conditions are 
ripe for a discovery. The forces at work 
are approaching a climax. 

Thought has reached that stage where 
it may summarize its progress and draw 
conclusions. The logical sequence is the 



96 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

revelation of new truth. It will burst 
upon the mind of the explorer, who is in 
advance, only to be reflected and verified 
by his fellow philosophers. It will revo- 
lutionize preconceived ideas, throw light 
upon present phenomena and their rela- 
tion and unite the segments of present 
truth with the vitalizing power of an elec- 
tric current. 

What will be the nature of this discov- 
ery is an interesting speculation. It may 
disclose some underlying law of the mind, 
some unrecognized force, a new applica- 
tion of known forces, or some dormant 
senses. Whatever they may be, certain 
it is that wonders await the thinking 
world. 



lEaster^Uifce. 



EASTEP^-TIDE. 

The skies are leaden and the winds un- 
gentle. The earth still wears the bedrag- 
gled garments of winter and awaits in 
gloom the birth of spring. 

Yet the sonorous organ peals forth its 
Easter anthems, belting the world with a 
continuous wave of harmony. In cottage 
and cathedral, blossom the Easter lilies, 
white-robed and golden-hearted, like 
seraphs in the guise of flowers. 

The heart of man may not rejoice as on 
a warm and sunny day, full of the subtly 
sweet suggestions of spring, but none the 
less it is Easter, "the great day/' as it 
was called in early times. The contrast 
between the spirit of the day and the un- 
sympathetic elements, is symbolic of the 
uncertainty and the unimportance of that 
which is external and the yital and en- 

LofC. 



ioo DREAMS AND IDEALS 

during nature of that which is spiritual. 

The sun may halt in his imperial round ; 
the seasons forget their ordained course. 
But the soul of man is the same forever. 

The church has other festivals, the 
world many a gala day, but of all the 
days of the calendar, Easter is the most 
ideal. There is a sanctity about it which 
sets it apart from other occasions. An 
atmosphere of poetry, purity and piety in- 
vests it which makes men better for its 
coming. It may be the inspiration of the 
music, it may be the influence of the lilies, 
it may be the lofty keynote of the observ- 
ance, but whatever the cause, it is certain 
that the day has a peculiarly softening 
and ennobling effect. 

Easter has a four-fold significance. 
Like other great festivals of the year, it 
w T as originally a celebration of an event 
in nature. It was of mythological origin, 
and was observed in honor of Eostre, the 
goddess of spring. Many of the pretty 
customs of Easter are symbolic of this 
origin. Easter eggs, for example, typify 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 101 

creation, or the new birth of spring. The 
exchange of eggs as gifts is an early Per- 
sian custom. 

This phase of the celebration of Easter 
is universal. The tutored or untutored, 
the religious or irreligious, cannot fail to 
sympathize with rejoicings at the resur- 
rection of spring. It is inherent in the 
human heart. The poet says: 

5 'The flush of life may be seen, 
Thrilling back over hill and valley." 

But it is no more plainly seen in the 
heart of nature than felt in the heart of 
man. There are certain stirrings in the 
breast which correspond to the stirrings 
of inanimate creation. The familiar lines: 

"In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the 

burnished dove, 
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly 

turns to thoughts of love," 

sound a truly philosophical note. Man's 
whole nature is quickened in harmony 
with the throbbings of new life. Love, 
hope and aspiration spring anew together 



102 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

with the young leaves and the fresh grass 
and the first blossoms, 

"For green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny, 
warm weather, 

And singing and loving— all come back to- 
gether." 

This feeling finds natural expression in 
new and gay attire. It is but the out- 
ward expression of an inward sympathy 
with nature, unconscious, it may be, but 
none the less real. Why should not man, 
and more especially woman, dress in har- 
mony with the fresh and beautiful out-of- 
door world? The paragrapher must have 
his fling at the Easter bonnet — and a 
tempting mark it is — nevertheless the 
Easter bonnet is more than a custom, a 
mere fad. It is the outgrowth of funda-* 
mental characteristics of human nature. 
If it be true that 

"Every clod feels a stir of might, 

An instinct within it that reaches and towers, 
And groping blindly above it for light, 

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers," 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 103 

who shall say how many a human clod 
buried in the mould of materialism, 
climbs to a comprehension of higher 
things through a natural love of beauty 
in its lesser forms? 

While the celebration of the new birth 
of spring was the original signification of 
Easter and is a natural and inevitable ac- 
companiment of its observance, yet it has 
an acquired significance of deeper import. 
The early Jews adopted the ancient festi- 
val as the time for the celebration of the 
feast of the passover, and observed it 
with added meaning and new solemnity. 

The first Christians subsequently adopt- 
ed the Paschal feast as the time for the 
commemoration of the resurrection of 
Christ. 

The heathen festival thus became a 
Christian observance, and remains to-day 
the commemoration of the greatest event 
of history. On this day the world bows 
before its one example of perfect love and 
complete self-sacrifice. 

To the devout Easter has one other sig- 



104 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

niflcance. It means to them not only the 
revival of the earth, not only the feast of 
the passover, not only the resurrection of 
Christ, but also the resurrection of the 
soul. 

Born of the holy influences of the sea- 
son, aspiration springs anew and the 
heart resolves to live up to the spirit of 
the Easter anthems, to grow into the sem- 
blance of the Easter lilies and to make all 
life a glad and solemn Easter. 



Uncorrtgible parents* 



INCORRIGIBLE PARENTS. 

Scattered oyer the country are institu- 
tions known as retreats for incorrigible 
children. There is a profound error in 
their very name. They should be called 
retreats for the children of incorrigible 
parents. 

There is no such thing as an incorrigi- 
ble child. The term is as false and con- 
tradictory as dark sunlight or discordant 
harmony. There are, undoubtedly, chil- 
dren who have inherited evil tendencies, 
and children who have been contaminated 
by bad surroundings and hardened by 
bad management. But an irreclaimable 
child does not exist. 

The institutions themselves are proof 
of this fact. Why should they be estab- 
lished at such an outlay of time and 
thought and money, if the children are, as 
they are called, hopelessly bad? Philan- 



108 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

thropists recognize in fact, if not in word, 
that it is the parents who are irreclaim- 
able and that any child may be saved. It 
is an axiom that in childhood the mind is 
so plastic, so easily formed and re-formed, 
that it may be cast in any mold the edu- 
cator wills. Rudely handled, the spir- 
itual wax may seem to lose its divine im- 
press, but it needs only proper conditions 
to restore it. 

The children who are inmates of these 
institutions come usually from houses of 
degradation, where the only discipline is 
brutal whippings, and the only moral re- 
straint is physical fear. The evil ideas 
with which they are surrounded are 
quickly and faithfully reproduced in the 
unfolding characters, and behold! the 
children are "incorrigible." 

The first step toward reform is to take 
them from their evil surroundings, and 
the second is to abolish the regime of pun- 
ishment, and begin rational education, 
which draws out the best there is in the 
children. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 109 

Ideas on the subject of punishment 
have changed rapidly in the past few 
years. It is hard to believe that the last 
generation was brought up in the fear of 
the rod. Yet it is true that the scriptural 
aphorism, "Spare the rod and spoil the 
child/ 5 was not long ago the key-note of 
government in every well-regulated fam- 
ily. It was a barbarous custom, this 
wreaking of the vengeance of angry par- 
ents on defenseless children. It had no 
justification in reason or result. Its only 
effect was to produce antagonism, rebel- 
lious mortification and a sense of injus- 
tice. Fortunately, it is largely a thing of 
the past. But as long as parents are 
afflicted with temper, children are doomed 
to suffer the penalty of corporal punish- 
ment. It would be well if it were made 
as much a legal offense for parents to 
raise their hands against their children as 
against their neighbors. The state should 
be able to control parental assault and 
battery. 

The whole idea of discipline is put upon 



no DREAMS AND IDEALS 

a wrong plane. Parents assume an au- 
thority over their children such as a mas- 
ter might over a slave. They assume the 
right of absolute direction, of conviction 
without trial, of anything caprice may 
suggest. With all the progress in educa- 
tional ideas, it is rare to find a family 
where the government is republican, and 
the children are regarded as independent 
individuals, with rights and opinions to 
be respected. The home is too often a 
despotic monarchy. There is great need 
of the doctrine that parents do not own 
their children, and have no rightful au- 
thority over them, save what they ac- 
quire from superior wisdom and the chil- 
dren's need of guidance. < 

All punishment is wrong, in the sense 
of artificial penalties, vengeance and re- 
quital. It is tyrannical injustice to the 
child, and puts the parent upon the plane 
of quarreling with him, and enforcing his 
own wishes by means of superior 
strength. 

The only wise and just course is to 



DREAMS AND IDEALS in 

allow a child to suffer the natural conse- 
quences of every act, neither lightening 
nor intensifying the ills of wrongdoing. 
This not only dispenses with police meas- 
ures and establishes the relations of par- 
ent and child upon an amicable basis, but 
it teaches the child cause and effect, the 
workings of natural law, and the neces- 
sity of self-control. It is a long step in 
advance of the home-training of the pres- 
ent day, but it is a step that must come, 
to the position where punishment will be 
absolutely dispensed with. 

Until the millenium, when all parents 
shall have been trained for the duties of 
parenthood, it would be well if there were 
institutions for incorrigible parents. 



Hbe power of flDusic. 



THE POWER OF MUSIC. 

Man has and can have no knowledge of 
external things save through the medium 
of the senses. These servants of the in- 
tellect bridge the chasm between the mind 
and the natural world. Over this avenue 
come all impressions. It is the charmed 
highway which the muses traverse, lead- 
ing man from the individual to the uni- 
versal, from the cell of the human to the 
spaces of the infinite. 

Foremost of the forces of art is music. 
She comes treading the blossoms of the 
asphodel, and thrilling the vibrant air 
with her aeolian breath. At her touch 
cold reason draw r s apart, and man sur- 
renders his being to the play of the emo- 
tions. The sea of melody gently laps the 
strand of silence as starry waters lap a 
sleeping shore at midnight. On the in- 



n6 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

slant a calm is born in the mind. The 
heart trembles and thrills at the elusive 
revelation of that world of love and 
beauty and perfection, which must some- 
where exist, since fancy always images 
the same mirage. The waves of harmony 
roll on in deep, triumphant measures, and 
the heart is filled with awe. 

"Wild, sweet, but uncommunicably strange." 

They leap and roar in fierce and jagged 
discord, and man is swept into the seeth- 
ing waters of despair. The mighty cli- 
max reached, the silver waves dash high 
and shiver into trembling echoes, leaving 
the reeling brain to cry with the poet: "I 
am dissolved in these consuming ecsta- 
cies." 

What music wills that man becomes. 
The "Marseillaise" transformed the 
French into heroic demons. Untold 
times in history has it helped fainting 
soldiers to continue the wearying march. 

It is the seductive measures of the 
waltz that entice societv to brilliant 



DREAMS AND IDEiVLS 117 

abandonment to mirth. It is the rollick- 
ing, frollicking airs of the opera that put 
the motley audience in sympathy with its 
frivolity. 

Above all it is the majestic sweep of 
the organ and the exalted measures of 
the anthem that give to the church much 
of its holy influence. When man wishes 
to appeal most strongly to the heart, he 
invokes the aid of music. 

The love of music is innate in the hu- 
man breast. It is responsive to nature's 
great and universal law of rhythm. All 
things are subject to it. From the birds 
and the brooks and the leaves, to the 
morning stars singing together, all crea- 
tion joins in melody. Man but yields to a 
law of his being when he surrenders him- 
self to the power of music. 

''Silver key of the fountain of tears, 
Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild; 

Softest grave of a thousand fears, 
Where their mother, care, like a drowsy child, 

Is laid asleep in flowers." 



problem plass ano tflovels. 



PROBLEM PLAYS AND NOVELS 

The epidemic of fiction and dramas 
dealing with moral and socialistic issues, 
still ravages the literary world. The pub- 
lic has long since wearied of problem 
plays and problem novels, but authors are 
still engrossed in "views" and "studies," 
in dissection and analysis. 

The tendency is to be condemned, for 
more reasons than one. The primary and 
principal objection is that such work is 
not art. True art does not deal with pass- 
ing conditions. It deals with the univer- 
sal, with the eternal verities of life and 
character. It does not seek to instruct or 
reform or proselyte. It seeks only to re- 
produce and idealize phases of human ex- 
istence. That which belongs to the times 
dies with the times. Only that which be- 
longs to all time can live forever. 



122 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

Not only does a didactic purpose ham- 
per and degrade art, but art is not a safe 
means of conveying learning. A novel or 
a play is necessarily too superficial in 
treatment and too limited in scope to 
properly embody a profound truth. The 
teaching is certain to be mangled in the 
process of fitting it to the necessities of 
the work. Put in popular form, it 
reaches many people, not fitted either by 
^nature or education to cope with such 
problems. They are certain to misinter- 
pret it, and a little learning becomes in 
their hands a truly dangerous thing. 

What has fired the minds of a certain 
class of women with silly and revolution- 
ary ideas of morality and justice? It is 
the strong plea in modern literature for 
the advancement of woman. If this plea 
were always on a high plane it would still 
be a source of danger to the ignorant. 
But when it becomes the tool of sensation- 
alism it is a source of actual evil. A lurid 
story is all that is needed to carry convic- 
tion to the inflammable minds of some 
women. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 123 

What has roused the widespread and 
unwholesome interest among the masses 
in hypnotism and occult science? It is 
the speculative, psychological, pseudo- 
scientific stories afloat on the literary 
market. These things are not for the un- 
educated. They are for philosophers and 
savants. They belong to the laboratory 
and dissecting room. The ancients were 
right in their belief that the royal arcana 
of nature were only safe in the hands of 
initiates. 

Zola's studies of heredity may be very 
valuable additions to medical science, but 
they certainly do not adorn literary art. 
Ibsen's studies of the workings of the 
emotions may be interesting and edifying 
to students of the mind, but they are of 
questionable value to the general reader. 
Pinero's sermons may be moral in intent, 
but his themes are scarcely elevating. 

Hasten the day which will bring a reac- 
tion and with it a pure, happy, wholesome 
literature, guiltless of treatises, sermons 
and "problems." 



Ube 3f ear of Bge. 



THE FEAE OF AGE. 

All men fear age. To most people the 
thought of old age holds more of terror 
than the thought of death. It is regarded 
as a prolonged death in life, more deso- 
late than the silence of the grave. 

The young turn from age with a shud- 
der, or look upon it with indifference as 
something far removed from them, or 
cherish the fair ideal that it means only 
silvery hairs and an end of work. But 
pain comes and brings them face to face 
with the specter they have evaded. They 
may shake off the apparition but its seal 
is upon them. One day they discover 
with a shock that their suppleness and 
elasticity of mind and muscle are gone; 
that the bloom of enthusiasm has faded, 
and the bleak world is disenchanted. 
Their youth is lost and they mourn in bit- 



128 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

terness the ardor and the strength, the 
ideals and the hopes, that have vanished 
as a bubble. 

Yielding the pleasures of youth, they 
cling desperately to the achievements of 
maturity, only to see them one by one dis- 
appear beneath the blight of age. Power, 
position, prosperity, melt in their grasp. 
Where is the harvest of toilsome years of 
effort? Knowledge is forgotten; wealth 
is scattered abroad; friends are dead; 
deeds are overshadowed by new achieve- 
ments of youth. 

Pity the man who outlives his great- 
ness! Where once he controlled destiny, 
ruled men and marshaled circumstances, 
now he is a superannuated figurehead. 
He sees the place he had consecrated to 
himself filled by others, with no regrets, 
no condolences from the world he had 
thought he served. To have felt the 
sweetness of doing and being and then 
become as naught ! The specter of age is 
always before him and he cries in despair, 
"Shall I be this thing, this skeleton 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 129 

stripped of honor, health and faculties? 
Shall I stand alone, scorned by the world, 
a tolerated dependent?" 

To hope, to suffer and to serve, and 
then lose all, is pitiful. To hope, to suffer 
and to serve and then be cast aside like 
worn out raiment, is the tragedy of life. 

Such is the accepted idea of old age. 
But there is another interpretation, at 
once more pleasant and more philosophi- 
cal. Ripe age brings a heritage as rich 
as youth. It broadens the outlook and 
gives a mental equipoise which, if not 
compatible with venturous undertakings, 
is, nevertheless, an essential of wisdom. 
In proportion as it widens the under- 
standing, it softens the heart. It makes 
men sympathetic, charitable, mild of 
judgment. Youth's relentless and vehe- 
ment severity gives place to more gener- 
ous and discriminating criticism. Asper- 
ity and intolerance are burned out in the 
fire of experience, and the heart learns to 
respect the human and the universal. 

Above all, old age brings peace. The 



130 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

violence and impetuosity of youth are ex- 
hausted. The intense emotion that once 
surged through the quivering being, like 
a rampant river of madness, is felt no 
more. The painful grappling with ideas 
that stung and lashed the brain to throes 
of action is at an end. There is a calm. 

"And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
Lie deep 'neath a silence, pure and smooth, 
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow." 

Lord Bolingbroke once said to Dean 
Swift: "The decay of passions strength- 
ens philosophy; passions are the gales of 
life; let us not complain that they do not 
blow a storm. What hurt does age to us 
in subduing what we toil to subdue all 
our lives ?" 



a Cure for TIMnfcina. 



A CURE FOE THINKING. 

The late Dr. Hamilton once said, "Bless- 
ed is lie who invented sleep; but thrice 
blessed is the man who will invent a cure 
for thinking.'' 

Thought is the most godlike of man's 
capabilities. The ability to think pro- 
foundly and truly is the end of education 
and the test of intellect. It is a noble 
achievement to withdraw within one's 
own consciousness, as to a solitude, and 
wrestle with some problem of existence 
until it yield its blessing. 

Such is the thought worthy the name. 
But it is the few rather than the many 
who are capable of this application. The 
old saw is all too true, which says: 

"How few there are who think aright, 

Among the thinking few! 
How many never think -at all, 

But only think they do!" 



134 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

There is little need of a cure for real 
thought. But there is a form of thinking 
that is more general and less desirable. 
It is the superficial flow of mental impres- 
sions which ordinarily passes for thought. 
Unless it is properly directed, it becomes 
a source of danger. A reverie is all very 
well in a picture or a poem, and may occa- 
sionally be indulged in with safety in real 
life. But as an habitual state of mind it 
is most pernicious. It stifles real thought 
and destroys the taste for mental applica- 
tion. Eventually it weakens the observa- 
tion, the memory and the reason. 

But this is not all of it, nor the worst. 
It tends, in later life, to produce a morbid 
mental state, and leads to a chronic con- 
dition of worry. Too many people form 
the habit of carrying their troubles about 
with them and pass through life immersed 
in a sea of regret, resentment and appre- 
hension. Bo fixed does the habit become 
that at length when an idea seizes them 
they are unable to rid themselves of it. 
They go over and over the same ground, 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 135 

like Sisyphus rolling his stone, arriving 
nowhere and accomplishing nothing, yet 
obliged to follow this treadmill of their 
own manufacture. Nervousness, insom- 
nia and all manner of mental disorders 
result. 

The condition exercises a direct influ- 
ence on health. People realize in a gen- 
eral way that anxiety is not a wholesome 
state. The frequency of nervous prostra- 
tion sufficiently attests that fact. But 
they too often regard this result as a 
weakness, due to a certain natural per- 
versity in the individual. They forget 
that there is no effect without a cause. 
They forget that there is no mental con- 
dition without its physical basis. 

As a matter of fact, the body and the 
mind are one and inseparable. They are 
so closely interdependent that what af- 
fects one affects the other. Every mo- 
ment of worry exercises a direct and im- 
mediate influence on the body. It is no 
imaginary influence, but an actual phys- 
ical result. It retards the action of the 



136 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

heart, thereby making the circulation 
sluggish and the respiration slow and de- 
pressing the entire system. A condition 
of peace and happiness is absolutely es- 
sential to perfect health. The person 
who suggests disturbing thoughts to the 
invalid or to one in frail health, is as 
guilty as he who administers a harmful 
drug. 

One of the greatest evils the physician 
has to combat is this habit of worry. 
There is no medicine in the pharmacopia 
that will reach it, and it taxes his ingenu- 
ity to overcome it. It is for this reason 
that the wise physician often prescribes 
travel. In many cases it is not so much a 
change of climate that is needed, as a 
complete change of scene and environ- 
ment. 

In extreme cases this morbid condition 
leads to obsession of ideas which is one 
of the early stages of insanity. 

One who is conscious of being addicted 
to the habit of worry or of any form of 
aimless thought should arouse himself 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 137 

and take vigorous measures to check it 
before it reaches a critical stage. It is 
not enough to say, "I will not think." No 
reform can be effected by purely negative 
measures. Bad habits can be removed 
only by crowding them out with good 
habits. The cure for thinking is thinking 
something else. 

When the air in a room becomes viti- 
ated the thing to do is to open the win- 
dows and let in fresh air. When the at- 
mosphere of the mind becomes vitiated, 
the same process of ventilation is neces- 
sary. New avenues of thought must be 
opened. One needs to get out of doors, 
to go among people, to take refuge in 
books, pictures, music, the theater or 
whatever else is pleasurable, stimulating 
and wholesome. If he cannot at once 
change his occupation, at least he should 
make an effort to recall that which is 
agreeable and inspiring. 

Everyone should make it a rule, when 
in perplexity, to seek the first opportunity 
to go apart and consider the situation ra- 



138 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

tionally and thoroughly, and decide as 
nearly as may be upon his course. This 
done, the subject should be considered 
closed to debate, and the mind should not 
be allowed to revert to it until occasion 
makes it necessary. 

If people would make this an invariable 
rule, worry would soon cease, general 
health would improve and the atmosphere 
of many a home would be cleared of that 
gloom which threatens its happiness. 



■Relentless Xaw. 



RELENTLESS LAW. 

Nature compels worship. The human 
mind has no choice but to yield its hom- 
age. Man cannot stand beside the regal 
sea unawed, nor gaze upon the majestic 
stars unmoved by reverence. 'Tis his to 
bow. The wind rides rampant on his un- 
tamed pride. The sun rolls on indifferent 
to his lordly will. 

The mountains stand amid his babbling 
turmoil in Olympic peace. 

? Tis his to bow and bow unheeded. 

Where is his power? Where is that 
throned authority he boasts? The un- 
bounded universe but mocks his claims. 
The trees, the clouds, the very flowers as- 
sert supremacy, and space re-echoes with 
his impotence. He is an atom, and his 
province but the circle that transcribes 
him. His sway is gone before he grasps 



142 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

it. Nature controls him, and his imperi- 
ous mind unused to thrall owns her tyran- 
nic right. From the petty thrones of his 
frail mastery he comes subdued to her 
eternal kingdom. He feels a mystery and 
a power he knows not, and he worships. 

His worship is no voluntary sentiment, 
his tributes no mere poetry. Spontaneous 
as breath is his deep wonder at the mira- 
cles of earth and air and sky. Inevitable 
as law T is his responsive homage. He sees 
and marvels in the seeing. It is omnipo- 
tence demands his awe. 

But Nature is a soulless idol, as blind, 
as deaf, as pitiless as marble. Like a su- 
perb Diana she harnesses the spheres and 
rides forth in her might and beauty. She 
sports in the tumultuous tempest. She 
reflects her loveliness upon the mirroring 
clouds. But neither might nor beauty 
has a heart. Nature is indifferent of her 
creatures. She knows no more of tender- 
ness than does the veriest monster. Circe 
was not more cruel. The skeptic says, 
"She brings man forth without emotion 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 143 

and sees him die without regret." She 
sits enthroned in changing loveliness and 
rules 'mid human hope and agony, de- 
spair and joy, remorseless, passionless 
and blind. 

Hers is no reasoning rule. Her iron 
chariot whose garlands do not sheath its 
spikes, crushes alike on tyrant's neck and 
maiden's heart. She stays her pitiless 
rain for no uncradled babe. She flaunts 
her waving trees in utter scorn of that 
wee, precious nest that's flung to earth. 
Mountains she uproots and stands un- 
moved as her huge boulders crush the 
peasant's trusting cottage clinging to the 
base. She neither smiles nor sighs. She 
will not ease one pang of patient mother 
suffering, nor palsy with her faithful 
lightning the marauding hands of thieves. 
She heeds no prayers, and her insatiate 
waves devour at once the fisher's vessel 
and the pirate's craft. 

'Tis idle to contend the storm is tem- 
pered to the shorn lamb. Where is Na- 
ture's justice? Where her mercy? She 



144 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

lays claim to none. It is not hers to pun- 
ish nor reward. Her task is but to mar- 
shal causes and effects in one unvarying 
sequence. Stern ruler and unnatural 
mother, she teaches man his hardest, 
most stupendous lesson. She reveals the 
secret of the universe — relentless law, 
and disciplines weak man to glorious 
obedience. 



people wftb Hoeals. 



PEOPLE WITH IDEALS. 

Honorable people may be divided into 
two classes. There are first those who are 
themselves possessed of lofty ideals, and 
second those who simply conform to the 
world's established ideals. The latter are 
by far the more numerous and the ideal- 
ists, therefore, become conspicuous by 
reason of the fewness of their numbers, if 
not by reason of their pre-eminent no- 
bility. 

It is a noticeable fact that people with 
the loftiest ideals of right, often fall be- 
low the average standard of conduct. 

Rosseau was one of the most conspicu- 
ous examples of this strange inconsis- 
tency. With all his beautiful theories of 
education and exalted views of life, he 



148 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

failed utterly as an educator because of 
his impatience and bad temper, and 
ruined his own life and the lives of those 
with whom he was associated through his 
total lack of principle. 

Again, there was Carlyle — Titan of 
thought. He made the heavens fairly 
ring with his magnificent philosophy. 
And yet he was personally one of the 
most peevish, petulant and disagreeable 
of men. 

Rev. Arthur Dimmesdale in "The Scar- 
let Letter" is a type of this phenomenon 
of human nature. Leading a Puritan peo- 
ple with inspired utterances, he was, 
nevertheless, guilty not only of crime but 
also of the most cowardly concealment. 

In every -day life we not infrequently 
meet such characters. They are people of 
high aspirations, and, more than this, peo- 
ple w T ho are really capable of great self- 
sacrifice and nobility of action, who, not- 
withstanding these things, are found 
wanting in the balance of ordinary af- 
fairs. 



DREA.MS AND IDEALS 149 

Why is it? Why this wide disparity be- 
tween purpose and deed? The world is 
ever ready to cry hypocrite. But is it 
just? If we could enter that laboratory 
of the gods where human motives are 
analyzed, might we not find some more 
charitable explanation? 

Even ordinary insight can suggest 
some plausible reasons. The first and 
fundamental one is this: The people who 
are capable of high ideals are the people 
•of the nervous-sanguine temperament. 
It is evident on the face of it that phlegm- 
atic people could never rise to great 
heights of aspiration. Now this nervous- 
sanguine temperament means among 
other things that the individual has keen- 
er sensibilities and more powerful emo- 
tions than his fellows. He responds more 
readily and more violently to good influ- 
ences, but, mark you, he responds with 
equal readiness and violence to evil in- 
fluences. He cannot be alive to the one 
and dead to the other. To all things alike 



150 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

he is more susceptible than his plodding, 
easy-going, phlegmatic brother. 

Moreover, while his feeling is greater, 
his nervous endurance is less. With this 
double inequality, it is small wonder that 
he often falls where his less ambitious 
comrade is able to stand. 

The second reason is a corollary of the 
first. It is the law of reaction. The 
mind swings from extreme to extreme. 
One mental state is succeeded by its oppo- 
site. It is an indisputable fact that a 
period of moral upliftment is followed by 
a period of moral abasement, and the 
greater the rise, the greater the fall. 

Finally, the instances of inconsistency 
are not so many in proportion to the 
number of idealists as they seem. We 
must remember that for every failure 
which we note among idealists, there are 
ten thousand which we ignore among ma- 
terialists. 

There is only one practical conclusion 
to be drawn from such consideration. 
And that is this: That emotion is a dan- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 151 

gerous motive power, and should be held 
in check in whichever direction one is 
going. 

While it is the duty of every one to 
cultivate high ideals, they should be of 
the sturdy, practical, objective kind, 
which may be worked out in some direct 
and concrete form. 

The aim should be to preserve the 
moral equilibrium, neither to float on a 
high tide of aspiration, nor to drift with 
the current of inclination, but to steer 
straight forward as the magnetic needle 
of purpose points. 



XTbe mnbiscoverefc Country 



THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. 

The new psychology, with its study of 
the senses, is opening yast vistas of hu- 
man possibilities. Man seems as yet in 
an elementary state, struggling toward a 
nobler being that is to be. His senses 
strengthen. His perceptions multiply. 
Each widened vision gives a view of 
greater breadth beyond. 

The mind is a plastic thing through 
which the outer world constantly seeks 
new expression. Its besieging forces 
have created tracks of nerves, and along 
the animate highway it sends sensations. 
Waves of light beat upon the earliest 
brains until the ceaseless washing wore 
a chanel of communication. The eye 
sprang into being and the nerves of sight 
developed. 

Other forces have created other organs 



156 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

until man stands well equipped for con- 
tact with the physical world. With refin- 
ing faculties has come increasing acute- 
ness. The senses at first vague and crude 
have become clear and discriminating. 
Where the savage once saw but three of 
the primary colors, the educated woman 
of today recognizes one hundred and 
twenty-four different shades. Nor have 
the senses yet reached their limit. Each 
new exercise strengthens the faculties 
for deeper insight. Where will it stop? 

There may be infinite gradations of 
sight and sound which the human mind 
cannot yet detect. 

That mystical messenger from nature, 
known as ether, bears upon its varying 
waves different sensations. Who shall 
say that there are not waves of such vol- 
ume that the human mind cannot yet 
contain them, and waves so faint that 
their pulsations are not felt by the latent, 
corresponding qualities of the brain 
which should respond. The unperfected 
organism may not yet be able to receive 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 157 

the extremes of impression. As it devel- 
ops and comes into harmony with the uni- 
verse, new nervous tracks may be laid by 
the ceaseless, impelling energy from with- 
out, until new senses are created. 

The sensitive mind has many a pre- 
monition of the awakening. It feels 
vague tremors and shudders, none the 
less certain that the causes are unknown 
and the meaning unintelligible. Under 
the influence of beauty the mind now and 
again will pause startled, in a tense atti- 
tude of attention, at the overwhelming 
sense of something beyond and beneath. 

The blind feel the presence of unseen 
objects they approach. So man stands 
blind upon the threshold of a realm, the 
outlines of which he feels, but may not 
yet see or even imagine. Sensations re- 
lated to the ruling forces of the undis- 
covered country are links which put him 
in touch with it, and shock him with in- 
definable perceptions. 

It is beginning to be believed that elec- 
tricity may be but one form of the energy 



158 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

of ether. If it be true, it must be related 
to light and sound which have found ex- 
pression in senses, and it must have a 
similar influence over the mind. Its aw- 
ful force kills as yet, because the organ- 
ism is not able to receive it. If it were 
to establish a communication like the 
other nerve systems the results would be 
stupendous. What revelations of beauty, 
what infinite power would be man's! 

The speculations the idea arouses al- 
most transcend the limitations of the im- 
agination. "And I saw a new heaven and 
a new earth, for the first heaven and the 
first earth were passed away." 



TEbe $oo& part. 



THE GOOD PAET. 

There are many Marthas in the world. 
Our modern men and women are, in the 
vast majority of cases, "cumbered with 
much serving." Many-sided civilization 
makes infinite demands upon the indi- 
vidual. There are so many things to be 
done, and so short a time in w r hich to do 
them, that we are unconsciously drawn 
into the rapids of manifold routine duties. 
We are whirled from one interest to an- 
other, each more pressing than the last, 
until life is swallowed up in weaves of 
haste and excitement. 

We have "no time" — no time for our- 
selves, no time for our friends, no time for 
our books, no time to enjoy, no time to 
live. So inured have we become to this 
unnatural life that we dream of nothing 



162 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

better. We prefer to drift with the cur- 
rent. It requires a man of strong purpose 
and strong character to stem the tide 
and strike out for himself. 

At the utmost we cannot, in this day 
and age of the world, experience all sides 
of life. We must choose. He who would 
accomplish worthy things, he who would 
live a happy and successful life, must 
select his part, and, shutting out all an- 
tagonistic interests, cling only to his 
ideal. Few are there who are able to do 
this. The mass of society ebbs and flows 
with the sea of humanity. 

Scheming for our remote welfare, we 
forget our immediate happiness. Ab- 
sorbed in a multiplicity of formal duties, 
we trample over the very things we seek 
— the moments of leisure, the days of 
peace, the refinements of life, the acts of 
love, which constitute the happiness of 
which we dream, and which we vainly 
hope to attain through those remote ends 
of fame, fortune and position, to which 
we consecrate our best efforts. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 163 

As one who walks through the sweet, 
sun-rise mist of a spring morning, intent 
upon the dusty highway, and senseless of 
the greenness of the fields, the fragrance 
of the apple blossoms, and the chirps of 
the birds; so man walks through the good 
things of life, intent upon the mere me- 
chanical feat of getting oyer the ground, 
and senseless of the higher things, the 
dearer things of enjoyment, culture and 
love. 

The devoted mother is a typical Martha, 
"careful and troubled about many 
things." Thinking only of the interests 
of her family, she, nevertheless, sacrifices 
the good times of the home, which are 
their richest inheritance, for a myriad of 
household duties. Some of these duties 
make for happiness, but many of them 
are immaterial — mere pride or affecta- 
tion, or indulgence in some pet occupa- 
tion. Meantime the family starves for 
"the good part," in the face of abundance. 
They are scattered. Only the insatiate 
monster of the household machinery re- 
mains. 



164 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

The father, zealous for prosperity and 
advancement, sells his birthright for a 
mess of pottage, and finds when his life 
is lived that the silent papers in his desk 
or the clattering mills on the river are 
but small interest upon the investment of 
mind and heart and soul. They but mock 
that happiness which is now as far in the 
past as it once seemed in the future. 

What men need for happiness is not 
more opportunities, but more ability to 
enjoy. They need that broad-minded 
judgment, which puts all things in their 
proper relation and discriminates, mo- 
ment by moment, between the immaterial 
and the important. They need the per- 
ception and the force of character to seize 
hold upon "the good part, which shall not 
be taken away/' 

Work has necessarily a large place in 
the practical world. It is the great bene- 
factor of mankind. But it should be the 
servant and not the master. When men 
yield themselves wholly to the tread-mill 
of the common-place and the utilitarian, 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 165 

they become mere machines. They should 
remember that there are things which 
are not measured in the coin of the realm. 
And in the end these are the things which 
count. 

There are bonds that are better than 
government bonds. 

Daily peace, serenity and pleasure are 
more to be desired than a hypothetical 
happiness in some more prosperous fu- 
ture. 

Choose, then, "the good part, which 
shall not be taken away." 



/Carriage a la flDofce, 



MARRIAGE A LA MODE. 

Marriage today is a different institu- 
tion from marriage a few years ago. For- 
merly a wife was only the essential part 
of the furniture of a home. Now sjie is a 
throned queen. Formerly she was as 
really veiled and carried a subject to her 
master's home as any bride of China. 
Now she finds true liberty at marriage. 

The days are past in civilized countries 
when a married woman is exiled from the 
w^orld and offered up a living sacrifice 
upon the altar of the household gods. 
The better time has come when she may 
venture into the sunshine of the outer 
world and make herself of use beyond 
the confines of her narrow hearthstone. 
A few there are who raise their voices 
against this new freedom. Thev would 



170 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

make marriage the ultimatum of a wo- 
man's existence and home the boundaries 
of her activity. They would have all wo- 
men cooks and housekeepers. They 
would deny them the right to engage in 
business. 

Now it so happens, perhaps unwisely, 
but nevertheless surely, that all women 
are not alike. Conventionality has not 
been able to repress differences in tastes 
and gifts. Feminine endowments are as 
varied as masculine, and it is quite as 
impossible to make of all women house- 
wives as to make of all men carpenters. 
There are women who can fashion ex- 
quisite bonnets who would make but in- 
different bread. Why should they wear 
out life and spirit and hazard their hope 
of heaven in the questionable service of 
kneading soggy bread to promote indi- 
gestion? Why may they not continue 
bonneting a proud community? 

They might thereby serve the public, 
indulge their tastes, produce their mite of 
wealth and furnish employment to those 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 171 

who could never in the wildest moments 
of inspiration construct a bonnet, but 
who could make such bread as the several 
husbands involved would never otherwise 
have enjoyed. It is an axiom of economy 
that it: is to the advantage of society 
that every individual should do such work 
as he is best adapted to do. It is a waste 
of energy and material to misapportion 
labor. 

It is often urged that married women 
should in sheer charity retire from the 
field where their competition is fatal to 
less fortunate sisters. They are to con- 
sole themselves with the generous per- 
mission to prosecute the higher lines of 
their work. 

The position is utterly illogical and un- 
tenable. In the first place, it must be re- 
membered that if married women who 
enter into business drive out more needy 
workers, they at the same time create in 
their own homes employment for those 
who may be still more needy and less 
gifted. In the second place, this proposed 



172 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

quasi retirement means one of two things. 
It means either that the women are rele- 
gated to a field in which they may harm- 
lessly dabble with their art without ac- 
complishing anything, or else it means 
that the feared competition is simply 
shifted a grade higher. If the former be 
the object, it is robbing society of certain 
resources. If the latter be the purpose, 
it is licensing one class from competition 
at the expense of another. 

But it is urged that married women 
who have other means of support, simply 
work to obtain for themselves luxuries. 
Luxuries are no detriment nor disgrace. 
And who have better rights to luxuries 
than those who earn them? 

It is impossible, moreover, to determine 
the dividing line between luxuries and 
necessities. What would be superfluous 
luxury to primitive man, would be but 
bare necessity to civilized man. A few 
crusts a day and a barrel at night are all 
the necessities a street Arab knows. But 
they would hardly suffice the average 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 173 

man. So the necessities of individuals 
differ with their differing surroundings. 
The matter cannot be regulated, unless, 
perhaps, by a return to the Blue Laws. 
It might be possible in some socialistic 
Utopia for the people to dictate as to 
one's personal needs and indulgences. 
But here and now such interference 
would not be tolerated with the Christian 
fortitude that might be its due. 

There is one more serious economic ob- 
jection to excluding married women from 
business. It is that it reacts on all wo- 
men and disqualifies them for good 
positions. The fact that feminine labor 
is transient and uncertain is the very fact 
that is keeping women down in the busi- 
ness world. No man wants an employe 
or partner who, as soon as she becomes 
valuable, will leave her occupation at a 
moment's notice. 

When women enter business with pro- 
fessional zeal as men do, when they take 
up work as a serious and permanent oc- 
cupation instead of a temporary make- 



174 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

shift for food and clothes until a husband 
can be obtained, then and then only will 
woman's work rise to any dignity, then 
and then only will it deserve or receive 
any serious consideration. 



a plea for Santa Glaus, 



A PLEA FOR SANTA CLAUS. 

The ghost of Gradgrind stalks abroad. 
With a grim smile, cut upon geometric 
lines, he marches through the world, 
treading upon butterflies and clipping the 
wings of birds. 

His latest atrocity is an attack on San- 
ta Glaus. He has just discovered the 
good old saint, and proposes to promptly 
annihilate him. 

"S»tick to facts, sir/' he cries. "In this 
life we want nothing but facts, sir; noth- 
ing but facts/' 

Whereupon he huffs and he puffs, and 
expects with one breath to blow Santa 
Glaus over. But that cheery and rotund 
little man remains unmoved. 

"His eyes— how they twinkle! His dimples 
how merry!" 



17S DREAMS AND IDEALS 

There they stand — the irate Thomas 
Gradgrind and the benevolent St. Nich- 
olas. Let the world choose between 
them. 

The Woman's Club has pronounced 
against Santa Claus on the ground that 
he is "a myth discreditable to our civili- 
zation." The Woman's Club is an hon- 
orable body, and one which, no doubt, 
has done much good. Nevertheless, it is 
fair to ask these estimable ladies if they 
have so completely reformed society that 
they must seek new worlds to conquer. 
Is there no greater evil left in civilization 
than faith in Santa Claus? Is there noth- 
ing which might better engage the forces 
of war than this cherished belief of child- 
hood? 

If Santa Claus be on trial, let us exam- 
ine his case. The accusation against him 
is that he is not a reality. Truly, he is 
not in the eyes of the law "a person/' 
This much we concede. More must be 
proven. 

The defense claims that Santa Claus is 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 



79 



a reality. He typifies a spirit of good-will 
and benevolence which is a live, actual, 
undeniable fact at Christmas tide. It is 
well enough for older folk to call him 
love or philanthropy or any other of his 
more imposing names. But children do 
not understand abstract terms. They 
cannot take in abstract ideas. In order 
to make this spirit intelligible to them, it 
must be embodied in some tangible form ; 
it must be given "a local habitation and 
a name." 

Symbolism is a>s necessary to the child- 
ish nature as it was to primitive man. It 
is a natural state of progress. The 
teacher in recognizing and administering 
to the child's demand for the objective 
and the personal, simply follows a law T of 
nature. She puts knowledge in the only 
form in which it can, at that stage of 
development, be assimilated. 

Take away Santa Claus and try to fill 
his place with abstract ideals of parental 
love and altruistic principles. How will 
vou succeed? The tendrils of the baby 



i8o DREAMS AND IDEALS 

mind are reaching out for something 
tangible around which they may cling. 
You give them empty air and words. 
They die. What have you accomplished? 
If you rob children of Santa Claus, you 
give them nothing adequate in return. Is 
it not better that they should grow into 
an appreciation of this universal spirit of 
love through the medium of poetry or 
parables than that; they should never feel 
its benignant influence? 

If we shut out the grosser world of our 
mature vision and recall the realm of 
childhood, our whole view of the case 
changes. 

Children are natural poets. Every child 
is born a poet. He looks out upon a 
strange world. He has no knowledge of 
it. He has no experience by which to 
measure it. Reason is dormant. But 
fancy, child of necessity, awakes, and 
like Minerva, springs full-fashioned and 
full-armed to action. It is fancy forms 
the world about the infant. It i3 fancy 
builds that bridge of "gossamer links' 1 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 181 

which spans the sea of semi-conscious- 
ness and carries the child to the coasts 
of the organized world. It is fancy spins 
those cobweb highways by which the 
child travels from promontory to prom- 
ontory of this foreign shore. It is fancy 
interprets the strange sights and sounds. 
It is fancy, regnant fancy, weaves them 
into an harmonious whole — the realm of 
childhood. 

This is the ante-chamber of the uni- 
verse. Here are the fairest glades, the 
grandest groves, the noblest beings of 
creation. Here flowers bloom perennial 
and fountains sing, and trees and birds 
and butterflies speak in the tongue of 
childhood. Here the sights which to our 
cruder vision are commonplace, become 
supernal. Here the milky way is 

"A broad white road in heaven, 
Pathway of the ghosts, the shadows, 

Running straight across the heavens, 
Crowded with the ghosts, the shadows. " 

Here the rainbow glows a garden of 
Eden, and the child believes 



1 82 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

" "Tis the heaven of flowers he sees there; 

All the wild flowers of the forest, 

All the lilies of the prairie 

When on earth they fade and perish, 

Blossom in that heaven above us." 

It is impossible to picture in human 
speech this world of ideality. Try as we 
will, its visions elude our meager words. 
Suffice it, that children move in such a 
realm. Who so cruel as to destroy it? 
Who so heartless as to betray them from 
this imperial home to the hut of barren 
fact and unadorned exactitude? 

The child torn from the cradle of fancy 
is a forlorn and sorrowful little being, 
bereft of all that is dearest to him. 

It becomes the duty of the educator to 
distinguish carefully between the untrue 
and the figurative ; betw r een what is in its 
essence false, and what is in its essence 
true. Truth is no less truth in poetry 
than in science. 

It is not only because life is barren 
without them that ideals should be cher- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 183 

ished in childhood, but also because the}' 
are a valuable educative force. They are 
a medium of contact with the great world 
of knowledge, and they form the basis 
of the culture, the ideality and the spir- 
ituality of later years. 

Older folk have their ideal world. It is 
the world of music and art and litera- 
ture. It is a world peopled with fictitous 
characters who are as real to them as 
Saint Nicholas is to children. Until they 
are willing to sacrifice their Little Nell, 
Mr. Pickwick, Evangeline, the Princess, 
and all their noble train, let them not de- 
mand that children give up their one uni- 
versal hero. 

Santa Claus is a fact of literature and 
a fact of ideality. He is the embodiment 
of truth, and teaches the first great les- 
son which children should learn — love. 

Parents who refuse him admittance in- 
to the home are needlessly robbing their 
children of an infinite amount of plea- 
sure. They need not act a lie, nor carry 
out a system of deception, but simply 



184 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

present the story as they would present 
any other beautiful story. 

Long live good Santa Glaus, and may 
he visit every child throughout the length 
and breadth of the land. 



Ube 3Law of SuGgestiom 



THE LAW OF SUGGESTION. 

Students of mind have great faith in 
what they term the law of suggestion. 
They believe that every concept finds its 
way directly or indirectly into action. 
Every impression received enters into the 
composition of the mind, and is repro- 
duced in the character of the individual. 
Exactly as food is assimilated by the 
body and converted into tissue and tissue 
into vital force, are sensations assimilat- 
ed by the mind and converted into 
thought and thought into deed. 

An idle fancy is as certain to be worked 
out, in one form or another, as an intense 
purpose. It may be modified or diverted 
into different channels, but it will find ex- 
pression. It seeks an outlet as naturally, 
inevitably and resistlessly as does a river. 



i88 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

As a man imagines, so he is. The in- 
dividual is no perfect and completed crys- 
tal of humanity. He is a composit of all 
that he has seen and heard and felt and, 
above all, dreamed. As well may he hope 
to conceal the material of which his house 
is builded as the material of which his 
mind is builded. Assume what guise he 
may, his true genius stands forth, fash- 
ioning alike his countenance and his life. 
The will is almost powerless to resist the 
momentum of the inner ideals. Man 
chooses his own models, and Fate binds 
him as in a spell, to copy them, line upon 
line, unconsciously or even against his 
will. 

A bitter thought is often worked out in 
an act of hate almost without the voli- 
tion of the doer. A frightful spectacle is 
perpetuated in timidity. It is not so 
much a rational apprehension of danger 
that causes midnight terrors as it is the 
horrid images stored in the mind which, 
suddenly recalled, weigh down the spirit 
with a sense of fright. An unworthy im- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 189 

pulse entertained, an unworthy course 
considered, is the beginning of the real- 
ization of those evil possibilities. 

On the other hand, to live in sympathy 
with the world of truth and beauty is to 
attain at once culture and character. 
The face of a refined woman bespeaks a 
mind that dwells among the lilies. The 
rugged countenance of a strong man tells 
of that habitual association with the no- 
ble and majestic of which the Psalmist 
sings: I will lift up mine eyes unto the 
hills from whence cometh my help. 

The importance of the theory from an 
educative standpoint is readily seen. If 
a child could be reared in surroundings 
which would engender only lofty and cor- 
rect ideals, he would approximate perfec- 
tion of character. Just in proportion as 
this standard is approached is the child 
truly educated. " Whatsoever things are 
lovely, whatsoever things are of good re- 
port; if there be any virtue, and if there 
be any praise, think on these things." 



Ube Cits of 1Refuge» 



THE CITY OF REFUGE. 

Of all the arts, home-making compre- 
hends the widest human interests. Home 
is the center of all things. It is the pivot 
of society. 

The world is beginning to realize this 
fact, and latter-day education exalts the 
home as both a means and an end. It is 
a means of culture — that culture which 
fosters at once the welfare of the indi- 
vidual and society at large. It is an ap- 
pointed end of existence. 

Home! It is a royal word. It has a 
retinue of the sweetest, proudest words 
the tongue knows. Poets use it as a spell. 
It is the incense they offer to appease the 
angered muses. But that ideal home the 
word proclaims, that Eden where the rays 
of all good converge — where is it found? 
Is.it the rainbow in fancy's bursting bub- 
ble? Is it the haven in some sky-frescoed 



i 9 4 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

mirage? Is it the Holy of Holies of the 
hereafter? If it be true that the mind of 
man can conceive only the possible, and 
all his ideals are but reflections of what 
does and must actually exist, then some- 
where there is infinite peace, comfort and 
satisfaction embodied in a home. The 
groaning earth has not yet found it. But 
meantime it comforts itself with repro- 
ducing fragments of its dream here and 
now. 

Home should be to man all that is em- 
bodied in the poetic idea of the old He- 
brew cities of refuge. It was a beautiful 
custom — the setting apart of cities to 
which those suspected of crime might flee 
from their pursuers and be safe. But law 
is not the only thing from which man 
flees. A thousand ills are ever close upon 
him, and home is the only place that af- 
fords a sure retreat. He needs to escape 
from the overwhelming fear and loneli- 
ness that sweeps over the mind at times 
and bears it onward toward despair. He 
needs to escape from the merciless grind- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 195 

ing machinery of the universe that threat- 
ens to crush him. He needs to escape 
from the cold, distrustful indifference of 
his fellows. He needs to escape from the 
persecution of those who hate him, from 
the pricks and stings of worry, and above 
all, from himself and the consequences of 
his own deeds. 

Pity the man who has not two lives, 
who cannot leave the error and disap- 
pointment, the sin and failure of the 
outer world, and retire to a different 
realm. At the gate of his city of refuge 
he should be able to throw aside his load 
of care and entering, bar his stronghold 
against pursuing evils. He should find 
himself in a new kingdom where he is 
hero, prince and very god, where all be- 
lieve in him, and understand and sympa- 
thize. His companions know him as he 
knows himself and judge more leniently. 
His faults are transformed into virtues 
and his virtues idealized. He sees the 
ideal of himself as the mirror of love casts 
back his reflection. For him all griefs 



196 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

and vexations are kept out of sight and 
all is peace and serenity, or joy and fes- 
tivity, as his mood requires. His com- 
fort, which the world despises and tram- 
ples upon, is here supreme. He knows 
no other life — like the dreamer in the 
happy trance who is unconscious of any 
other existence. He cannot be harmed. 
He is in his city of refuge. 

The accused in a city of refuge was re- 
garded as innocent, so there could be no 
attempt either to reform or to punish 
him. So it should be in the home. They 
err who make home a training school or 
house of correction. Reformation or 
punishment is no part of the mission of 
the home. Every man receives his due of 
chastisement. A relentless fate and vin- 
dictive world makes sure of that. No 
man receives his due of reward. Let 
home make up the deficiency. There is 
enough of misery in the world. There is 
never enough of happiness. Let home 
confine itself to the production of happi- 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 197 

ness and trust the world to maintain the 
balance with misery. 

Happiness is good and good will coun- 
teract evil. The proposition, be good, 
and you will be happy, is not half so cer- 
tain as the converse, be happy, and you 
will be good. The one great office of the 
home is to generate happiness. Disci- 
pline will take care of itself. 

With a city of refuge at hand a man 
may brave the world. Without it he is 
lost. As with the individual, so it is with 
society. When the homes of the people 
become cities of refuge, then will the wel- 
fare of societv be assured. 



Ube Hrt of Speaking Bnglisb. 



THE ART OF SPEAKING ENGLISH. 

Chimmie Fadden is dictator of drawing- 
room conversation. Gingerly rescued 
from the gutter on the point of a pen, he 
was set down in the midst of good society. 
And society fluttered down upon him, en- 
veloped him and crowned him lion of the 
day. His bowery eloquence found atten- 
tive and appreciative ears. Society ap- 
plauded and straightway aped his saucy 
slings of the sediment of speech. It is 
the latest fad and dearest fashion of the 
fin de siecle girl to quote Chimmie Fad- 
den. 

It seems incredible that any self-re- 
specting woman would besmirch her lips 
with such vulgarity. Yet it is a fact that 
women in fashionable circles are enthusi- 
astically patterning their conversation 
after that of the renowned Chimmie. No 
doubt they fancy themselves piquant and 



202 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

vivacious. Alas for conversation! A 
noisy parrot could chatter as engagingly 
if only it were trained by a low, gross, 
and profane salesman. 

Custom cannot license outraged taste. 
Slang on the lips of woman is inelegant, 
immodest and disgusting. Shame that 
woman's tongue should bandy the coarse 
gibes of the street and the saloon. The 
fairy tales rehearse themselves in real 
life. Again the foolish maiden is cursed 
with dropping toads and vipers from her 
lips. But the fair sister whose speech 
turns to diamonds and roses is harder to 
find. 

The prevalence of slang among the so- 
called better classes is a sad commentary 
on the culture of the day. How is our 
mother-tongue wronged! Catch phrases 
from the comic opera, the race track, the 
ball park and the gaming table make up 
the whole vocabulary of a sadly large pro- 
portion of society. It may be urged that 
slang crystalizes into legitimate phrases 
which enrich the language. In rare cases 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 203 

of forcible and natural expression, which 
are really figures of speech, this may hap- 
pen. But it is the exception, not the rule. 
The great mass of slang is mere chaff 
that does not survive one season. Even 
the best expressions, newly coined, should 
be given a long probation before they are 
allowed to enter polite conversation. 
Certainly women should not initiate 
them. 

The use of slang and all stock phrases 
is a confession of weakness. It is an 
evidence of ill-breeding, bad taste and 
plebian tendencies. It betrays deficient 
education, scanty vocabulary and pov- 
erty of intellect. The man of brains 
and culture is able to express himself 
without the aid of such cheap forms. He 
has ideas and originality. But the empty, 
brazen kettle that would fain rattle must 
rely on the set expressions it collects for 
noise. 

Words are no mere marbles to be rolled 
hither and thither at will. They are gems 
to be treasured and properly set. Dis- 



204 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

crimination in the use of words is a fas- 
cinating study. Good English is a fine 
art. There should be connoisseurs of 
words as there are connoisseurs of wines 
and china, laces and paintings. The 
woman who confused the fine shades of 
toilet from negligee to dress would jeop- 
ardize her position in society. Yet she 
confuses words with perfect impunity. 
The woman who could not distinguish 
shades of color — to whom all was red, 
from carmine to scarlet — would be held 
little better than a savage. But where is 
the woman who can distinguish shades of 
words? They are quite as clearly marked 
— yet they are ruthlessly heaped in mean- 
ingless masses. 

That nice use of words in their exact 
and native sense is a lost art. Well 
might it be cultivated. Speech is a mo- 
saic. Each word has its place in the de- 
sign. Words are not interchangeable, 
for there is no such thing as synonyms. 
Loosely thrown together, they are a 
shapeless pile without sense or symmetry. 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 205 

Fitted to their proper places, they form a 
pattern of exquisite workmanship. It is 
this accuracy in the use of words that 
constitutes good English. It gives an in- 
cisive force, a purity of diction and an ele- 
gance of style, mere art despairs to imi- 
tate. 



personal tolerance. 



PERSONAL TOLERANCE. 

People talk much of tolerance. The 
world fancies it has learned liberality. 
It boasts its charity. Is this tolerance 
genuine? Is it active? Does it extend 
deeper than a certain acquired indiffer- 
ence, a habit of accepting the maxim, 
"Live and let live?" 

True, the world has taken a long step 
in advance of earlier generations in con- 
ceiving the idea of tolerance. It has also 
accomplished much in the general appli- 
cation of the principle of catholicity. 

The right of free thought and free 
speech is established. Neither govern- 
ments nor churches attempt to control the 
mind or the conscience of the individual. 
The widest latitude is allowed all sects, 
classes and parties. We have even 
learned that people may hold different 
religious opinions from ourselves and 



210 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

still be righteous; that they may hold dif- 
ferent political opinions and still be sane. 

But there is a deeper and more essential 
tolerance which the world has not yet 
learned. It is personal tolerance. 

People of a different mold of character, 
temperament or disposition from our- 
selves annoy us. We term them, in vari- 
ous degrees of intensity, as disagreeable, 
insufferable or obnoxious, and condemn 
them as essentially bad because they are 
distasteful to us. 

Monumental egotism! We constitute 
ourselves the censors of mankind and 
then set ourselves up as the models by 
which we judge them. We assert, by im- 
plication, that our ways are right, and 
all other ways are, therefore, necessarily 
wrong. We are quite ready to admit in 
general that we are not infallible, but we 
are never ready to admit in particular 
that w r e may be mistaken in our views or 
at fault in our methods. 

We have need to remember that no one 
has sounded the depths of knowledge or 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 211 

righteousness, of philosophy or religion. 
What appears from our standpoint wholly 
evil, may from another, perhaps a higher 
standpoint, appear wholly or partly good. 
A man may be right in the very particular 
at which we are, because of prejudice, at 
variance with him; or being wrong in that 
particular, he may be right in others 
which outweigh it. 

Until we have mastered all truth, and 
have acquired perfect insight into human 
nature, we cannot judge correctly. There- 
fore, it is safest not to judge at all. Least 
of all should we judge by our own imper- 
fect and inconsistent selves. 

We have a right to our own convictions. 
And when action is demanded, we should 
certainly be true to them. But under all 
other circumstances we should hold them 
in abeyance, lest after all we are in error. 

It is quite possible that our neighbor 
also has some hold upon truth and pos- 
sesses some common sense. We have no 
right, given of God or man, to attempt to 
re-create him. 



Ube Bondage of Woman. 



THE BONDAGE OF WOMAN. 

The emancipation of woman is the bat- 
tle cry of this morbid age. It is the key- 
note of the popular novel. It is the sub- 
ject of the reformer's ravings. It is the 
fad of every aggressive woman who 
boasts herself "advanced." Half the 
world is armed for a quixotic crusade to 
release a mythical princess from a fairy's 
spell. The other half looks on indiffer- 
ently, accepting the mock-heroic pageant 
as a matter of course. The senses of the 
public seem to have been blunted by con- 
stant harping on one string. It accepts 
as a reality the bondage of woman, and 
only questions the possibility and wisdom 
of "emancipation," or the ways and 
means of its accomplishment. 

It is time for judgment to descend 
upon this popular ecstacy of reform and 
sternly question what is the cause of the 
disturbance of the peace. 



216 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

Is it true that the women of today are 
enslaved? Who is the despot who robs 
them of their freedom? How is their 
liberty to be regained? The champions 
of "The Cause" reply that woman is a 
slave to man and only by agitation and 
legislation can the tyrant be made to 
yield to woman the rights he has wrested 
from her. 

The champions of The Cause have been 
reading ancient history. They are suffer- 
ing from a retrospective nightmare. 

There was a time when women were in 
bondage. It was the period when brute 
force ruled the world. But the monarchy 
of brute force long ago declined and fell. 
It was founded on a false basis, and nat- 
ural elements wrought its destruction. 
Since its overthrow women have been 
free. The chains of social custom still 
clank about them, but they are loosed 
and the freed captives have only to throw 
them off and accept liberty. Their only 
limitations are in themselves. 

Why prate of "emancipation?" The 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 217 

fact that women have not yet been able to 
take advantage of all the rights of their 
free estate does not argue that they are 
still in slavery. Nor does it argue that 
men are trying to deprive them of their 
rights. All things progress according to 
the unalterable laws of natural develop- 
ment. No stage can be omitted. Only 
when education and experience have de- 
veloped the faculties which qualify wo- 
man for a position of absolute equality 
with man can she hope to attain it. Ad- 
vanced women are children crying for the 
moon, with this difference that the orb 
they crave is one they may hope to grow 
tall enough to reach. Until they have 
gained mature stature let them be con- 
tent with the duty of growing. 

All the complicated issues of the wo- 
man question center about woman's 
financial standing. The old social system 
presupposed her dependence; therefore 
she was expected to leave matters of busi- 
ness, politics and the adjustment of 
society to her natural protector, her 



218 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

agent, man. The new system is based 
upon her independence. She has proved 
herself capable of earning a livelihood. 
She has property interests entirely her 
own. It is but jnst that she should have 
the means of protecting them. By grad- 
ual steps she is advancing to a position of 
influence that will make her claims im- 
perative and they will be respected. Per- 
forming the duties of citizenship she will 
need its privileges, and they will fully 
and freely be granted her. When she 
holds her rightful position in the world 
of affairs she will be able to dictate her 
social relationships as she cannot now do. 

The woman question is a simple prob- 
lem of economics, and is rapidly solving 
itself. This is a transition period from 
the old basis of society to the new. There 
is no division between the interests of 
man and woman. There is no battle for 
supremacy. 'There is no slavery, no need 
of "emancipation." 

If the emancipators are striking at that 
dependence which transcends business, 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 219 

political or social issues, then indeed is 
woman's cause a lost cause. There is in 
every woman's heart a longing to be ruled. 
She worships strength and when she finds 
it she worships its possessor. Only he 
whom she thinks strong enough to domin- 
ate her, can win her heart's devotion. She 
exclaims with Portia : 

"Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
But she may learn; happier than this, 
She is not bred so dull but she can learn; 
Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
As from her lord, her governor, her king. 
Myself, and what is mine, to you and yours 
Is now converted; but now I was the lord 
Of this fair mansion, master of my servants, 
Queen o'er myself; and even now, but now 
This house, these servants and this same my- 
self, 
Are yours, my lord." 

This is the essence of a woman's heart. 
It is the exulting Lohengrin of every 
happy bride, whether she is but "queen 
o'er myself or crowned queen upon a 
throne. 



220 DREAMS AND IDEALS 

Weak and wicked it may be, but it is 
fundamental. And will the mighty eman- 
cipators crush this unregenerate impulse? 
As well hope to crush planets and sys- 
tems! 

The loftiest and proudest of woman- 
kind is of the opinion of Pharaoh's daugh- 
ter when she says in Uarda: "I may be 
courted twenty times and reject twenty 
suitors, but not because I fear that they 
might bend my pride and my will ; on the 
contrary, because I feel them increased. 
The man to whom I could wish to offer 
my hand must be of a loftier stamp, must 
be greater, firmer and better than I, and I 
will flutter after the mighty wing strokes 
of his spirit, and smile at my own weak- 
ness, and glory in admiring his superior- 
ity." 

Let the emancipators have their way. 
Let them educate the new woman to scorn 
man's domination. Let them place her 
upon the throne of Yvdsdom and power. 
She will despise her subjects and long to 
look up. She will one day see a vision 



DREAMS AND IDEALS 221 

that towers above her, and she will wor- 
ship it and her crown will coronate her 
chosen king. And she will fashion fet- 
ters of Cupid's roses to bind the limbs she 
had struggled to free. 

"Till at the last she sets herself to man, 
Like perfect music unto noble words." 

It is useless to emancipate woman. 
She chooses bondage. 



